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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 
JOHN   Sr  ANNA   GILLESPIE 


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THE   STOEY   OF   MY  LIFE 


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THE 


STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


BY 


AUGUSTUS   J.  C.  HARE 

AUTHOR     OF     ''MEMORIALS     OF    A     QUIET    LIFE  : 
"  THE    STORY   OF    TWO    NOBLE    LIVES  " 
ETC.,    ETC. 


Volume  II. 


NEW    YORK 
DODD,   MEAD    AND    COMPANY 

1896 


' 


Copyright,  1S96, 
By   Dodd.   Mead  and  Company, 


tHnttorrsitti  ^rcss: 
John  Wilson  and  Son.  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Work  in  Northern  Countries 1 

Home  Life  with  the  Mother 89 

English  Pleasures  and  Roman  Trials 211 

Last  Years  of  Esmeralda        402 

The  Roman  Catholic  Conspiracy I'M 

Last  Years  with  the  Mother 466 

Index  to  Vols.  I.  and  II 555 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 
VOL  II 

Page 

At  Durham 4 

On  Allen  Water,  Ridley  Hall 12 

Ford  Castle,  the  Terrace 19 

View  from  Holmhurst.     (Full-page  woodcut)  .     .       To  face  21 

Entrance  to  Holmhurst :    "  Huz  and  Buz  " 23 

Alderley  Church  and  Rectory 28 

Wark worth,  from  the  Coquet 77 

Winton  Castle 79 

The  Cheviots,  from  Ford 84 

Carrozza 92 

Roman  Theatre,  Aries      ...          98 

Hotel  du  Mauroy,  Troyes 99 

The  King  of  Bohemia's  Cross,  Crecy 100 

S.  Flaviano,  Montefiascone 104 

Ostia , 108 

Theatre  of  Tusculum 100 

Amalfi 113 

Courmayeur 124 

Anne  F.  M.   L.  Hare.      From  G.  Canevari.       (Photogra- 
vure)   To  face  128 

Ars 133 

Tours 100 


vin  LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

\'     \  1 1  ;_T«  H 1 1  «"•  1 1 H 17<> 

l'au 171 

Betharram       182 

Biarritz L88 

The  Pas  de  Roland L90 

S.  Emilion  Cathedral  Door L92 

Amboise 194 

Anne   F.  M.  L.   Hare.     From  Swinton.     (Photogravure.) 

To  face  210 

The  Coronation  (hair,  Westminster 213 

Bamborough  Castle 218 

The  Sundial  Garden,  Ford 220 

The  Fountain,  Ford 221 

Ford  Castle,  the  Terrace 233 

Elizabeth,  Lady  Stuart  de  Rothesay.     From  a  miniature, 

by  Mrs.  A.  Dixson.     (  Photogravure)       .     .     .    To  face  236 

The  Pass  of  Bracco 253 

At  P«.rt.»  Venere 264 

La  Spina,   Pisa 201 

Contadina,  Valley  of  the  Sacco 202 

The  Bridge  of  Augustus,  Narni 293 

The  Mediaeval  Bridge,  JSTarni 204 

View  from  the  Boboli  Gardens.  Florence 296 

Bolmhurst,  from  the  Garden 200 

Lady  Angusta  Stanley.      (Photogravure)  T<>  face  301 

Altm,  Barnes  Church 302 

Bodryddan 312 

S.  Remy 322 

From  Maison  S.    Francois,  Cannes  ...           ....  323 

Bocca  Wood,  Cannes 325 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS  iX 

Page 

Maison  S.  Francois,  Cannes 326 

Maria  Hare.     (Line  engraving) To  fac<  326 

Cagnes 329 

Antibes 331 

Le  Puy 333 

Royat 334 

In  the  Dean's  Garden,  Canterbury 338 

Arthur  Penrhyn  Stanley,  Dean  of  Westminster.     (Photo- 
gravure)       To  face  339 

Courtyard,  Deanery,  Westminster 341 

Palace  Garden,  Peterborough 344 

Fontaines 361 

Arc  de  S.  Cesaire,  Aliscamps,   Aries 362 

At  Savona 363 

Sestri 365 

Castle  of  Este .  397 

Petrarch's  Tomb,  Arqua 399 

Tomb  of  the  Count  of  Castelbarco,  Verona 400 

Esmeralda's  Grave 432 

Mary  Stanley.      (Photogravure) To  face  441 

Joigny 468 

Porte  d'Arroux,  Autun 472 

Ford  Castle,  the  Library I7.~» 

Bar-le-Duc 482 

Bridge  of  Bar-le-Duc 483 

Mantua 485 

Vicenza 486 

Vicenza  from  Monte  Berico 187 

The  Prato  della  Valle,  Padua 488 

Siena 489 


x  LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

s.  Gemignano 490 

The  Hotel  ilr  Londres  during  the  Flood 495 

8.  Antonio,  Pisa,  during  the  Flood 491) 

\'iiw  (torn  tlic  Via  Gregoriana 505 

Nniii 511 

Tivoli • 513 

Bracciano 516 

Grave  of  Augustus  \\  .  Han1,  Rome .~>1s 

From  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi 520 

Piazza  S.  Domenico,  Bologna 521 

Cluny 524 

Cloister  of   Fontenay 525 

St.  Martin.-.  Canterbury 532 

Henry    Alford,     Dean    of    Canterbury.      (Photogravure.) 

To  face  532 

The  Church  Fane,  Hurstmonceaux 545 


X 
WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES 

"  Ad  ogni  uccello  suo  nido  par  bello." 

—  Italian  Proverb. 

"  O  my  life  !  have  we  not  had  seasons 
That  only  said,  Live  and  rejoice  ? 
That  asked  not  for  causes  or  reasons, 
But  made  us  all  feeling  and  voice." 

—  Lowell. 

Ox  our  arrival  in  England,  we  were  delighted  with 
our  little  Holmhurst,  which  we  arranged  to  be  as 
much  like  Lime  as  possible,  while  many  of  the 
plants  and  shrubs  we  had  brought  with  us,  were,  in 
the  garden,  a  perpetual  reminder  of  our  old  home. 
To  my  mother,  however,  our  return  was  greatly 
clouded  by  the  loss  of  her  only  brother,  my  Uncle 
Peurhyn,  who  died  at  Sheen  while  we  were  at  Men- 
tone,  passing  away  most  peacefully,  surrounded  by 
his  family.  This  uncle  is  one  of  the  few  figures  con- 
nected with  my  childhood  with  whom  I  have  no  asso- 
ciations but  those  of  unvarying  kindness,  and  in  later 
years  we  had  been  brought  nearer  to  him  in  our  long 
winter  visits  at  Sheen,  and  we  missed  him  greatly. 

My  Handbook  (nominally  Murray's)  of  Oxfordshire, 
Buckinghamshire,  and  Berkshire  had  been  published 
during  our  winter  absence  :  my  little  book  "  A  Winter 
at  Mentone"  appeared  soon  after  our  return.  With 
Murray's  Handbook  I  had  taken  as  much  pains  as  if 

VOL.  II. 1 


•J  THE   STOR1   OF   MY   LIFE  [18 

it   wen  appear  in   my  own   name,    and    felt    as 

strongly  the  responsibility  of  what  Miss  Edgeworth 
calls  ••  irremediable  words,"  once  past  the  press.  The 
••  Winter  at  Mentone"  fell  perfectly  flat,  but  Murray 

sed  with  the  laudatory  notices  which  fol- 
lowed the  appearance  of  the  Handbook,  that  he  asked 
me  to  select  any  other  counties  I  liked.  1  chose  Dur- 
liam  and  Northumberland,  and  after  the  middle  of 
Jnlv  went  there  for  three  months.  In  undertaking 
these  comities.  1  again  assented  to  an  arrangement  by 
which  I  was  never  repaid  for  my  work ;  but  the  work 
-  one  which  I  liked  extremely,  bringing  me  in  con- 
tact  with  endless  interesting  persons,  enabling  me  to 
be  much  with  "  Cousin  Susan."'  who  gave  me  a  second 
home  at  Ridley  Hall,  and  opening  a  held  of  historic 
study  of  the  most  interesting  kind.  ( >n  the  way 
north  I  went  to  the  Vaughans  at  Doncaster.  of  which 
Dr.  Vaughan  had  lately  become  Vicar. 

my  Mother. 

"  L  .  July  '24.  1861.     The  people  here  are  a  per- 

petual amusement  to  Kate,  they  are  so  quaint  and  original. 
She  spoke  to  one  old  woman  the  other  day  about  her  sinful 
ways  and  the  necessity  for  amendment.  •  Xa.  na.  Mrs. 
Vaughan."  she  replied.  •  I  be  got  too  old  for  Mr.  Satan  noo : 
he  canna  hurt  I  noo."  Another  old  woman  who  was 
brought  into  the  hospital  swore  dreadfully  all  night  long, 
great  annoyance  of  her  neighbours ;  hut  when  they 
complained  she  said.  -"Wal.  I  niver  did  it  afore  I  coomed 
here,  hut  I  Ik?  gettin'  old.  and  I  canna  help  it  —  and  it 's  the 
will    '  G    1.  and  I  canna  help  it." 

••  Kate  said  to  an  old  man.  •  "What  are  you  so  low  about, 
my  man'?'  -Why."  he  said,  -what  wi'  faith,  and  gas, 
and  balloons,  and  steam-in^ines  a-booming  and  a-rizzlincr 


1861]  WORK   IX   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  3 

through  t'  warld,  and  what  wi'  t"  arth  a-going  round  once 
in  twenty-four  hours.  I  "m  fairly  muzzled  and  stagnated.' 

"I  have  been  to  call  on  the  daughters  of  ' Presence-of 
mind  Smith.'  who  was  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  and  to  the 
close  of  his  life  used  to  tell  this  story  of  himself.  •  In  my 
life,'  he  said,  '  there  has  been  one  most  fortunate  incident. 
A  friend  of  mine  persuaded  me  to  go  out  with  him  in  a 
boat  upon  a  lake.  I  did  not  wish  to  go,  but  he  persuaded 
me,  and  I  went.  By  the  intervention  of  Providence,  J 
took  my  umbrella  with  me.  We  had  not  been  long  on  the 
lake  when  the  violence  of  the  waves  threw  my  friend  out 
of  the  boat  drowning,  and  he  sank.  Soon,  as  is  the  case 
with  drowning  persons,  he  came  up  again,  and  clutched 
hold  of  the  side  of  the  boat.  Then  such,  providentially, 
was  my  presence  of  mind,  that  I  seized  my  umbrella  and 
rapped  him  violently  on  the  knuckles  till  he  let  go.  He 
sank,  and  I  was  saved.' '' 

When  I  arrived  at  Durham.  I  presented  myself  at 
once  to  my  cousins  the  George  Liddells,  who  lived  at 
a  dingy  brick  house  in  the  suburb  called  Old  Elvet. 
They  had  never  seen  me  before,  but  welcomed  me 
with  the  utmost  kindness  and  hospitality,  making  me 
quite  at  home  with  them.  I  took  a  little  lodging 
close  by,  but  thev  made  me  dine  with  them  almost 
every  day.  and  I  went  constant  expeditions  with 
them,  staying  to  dinner  at  the  neighbouring  hous  -. 
Elemore,  Aldin  Grange.  &c.  Durham  itself  I  always 
found  charming.  The  smoke  only  gave  a  pictures,  pi  e- 
ness  of  its  own.  and  on  Sunday  there  was  a  Sabbath 

7  *J 

of  nature,  for  when  the  chimneys  ceased  smoking,  the 
birds  began  to  sing,  the  flowers  to  bloom,  and  the  sky 
to  be  blue.     Sunday,  however,  was  a  severe  day  with 

J  7  l 

the  George  Liddells,  almost  entirely  spent  in  _   ing  to 


THE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE 


[1861 


church,  reading  prayers,  and  listening  to  long  sermons 
at  home.  Even  on  ordinary  days,  after  long  morning 
prayers,  we  were  expected  to  read  all  the  Psalms  and 
Le-sons  tor  the  day.  verse  by  verse,  before  we  went 
out.  Bui  with  all  this,  George  Liddell  was  the  very 
dearest  and  kindest  of  old  men.  and  1  was  very  fond 
too  of  his  wife  —  "Cousin  Louise"  —  who  was  most 
amusing  and  original. 


AT    DURHAM. 


Other  cousins,  who  were  intensely  good  to  me  at 
this  time,  were  old  Henry  Liddell,  brother  of  my 
great-uncle  Lord  Ravensworth,  and  his  wife,  who  was 
daughter  of  Thomas  Lyon  of  Hetton,  my  great-grand- 
mother's youngest  brother.  I  had  known  them  first 
at  Bath  many  years  before,  where  they  were  kind  to 
me  when  I  had  very  few  friends.  With  them  lived 
their  daughters  Charlotte  and  Amelia,  and  their 
youngest  son  William,  a  very  tall,  very  excellent,  and 
very  shy  clergyman,  who  was  his  father's  curate  at 


1861]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  5 

Easington.  Here  I  paid  my  first  visit  to  them.  It 
is  an  ugly  village  in  the  Black  Country,  but  the  Lid- 
dells'  house  was  most  comfortable,  having  the  sea 
close  by,  with  delightful  sands  and  rocks,  and  many 
wooded  "  denes  "  running  down  to  it,  of  which  Castle 
Eden  is  especially  beautiful. 

I  remember  one  day,  after  returning  from  Easing- 
ton, dining  with  Dr.  Phillpotts,  the  celebrated  Bishop 
of  Exeter,  who  had  a  Canonry  at  Durham.  He  was 
very  old,  and  was  obliged  to  have  a  glass  of  wine 
given  to  him  to  obtain  strength  to  go  in  to  dinner, 
and  every  one  wished  him  good-night  when  he  left 
the  dinner-table.  He  was  good  enough  also  to  send 
for  me  alone  to  wish  success  to  my  book,  &c.  It  was 
my  only  sight  of  this  kindly  old  man,  though  I  knew 
his  daughter  well,  and  valued  her  many  good  quali- 
ties. They  both  died  shortly  afterwards.  Amongst 
the  company  at  the  Bishop's  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John- 
son of  Akeley  Heads,  whom  I  also  visited  at  their 
own  beautiful  place,  which  is  on  a  high  terrace  over- 
looking Durham.  It  came  to  them  in  a  curious  way. 
Mr.  Johnson  was  at  school  at  Durham,  and  went  out 
with  his  two  elder  brothers  to  spend  the  day  with  a 
rich  old  uncle  who  lived  there.  The  eldest  brother 
was  his  uncle's  heir.  They  were  sent  to  play  in  the 
garden,  and  seeing  there  a  beautiful  ripe  peach  upon 
the  wall,  they  were  unable  to  resist  it,  and  ate  it  up. 
Soon  the  uncle  came  into  the  garden  to  look  for  thai 
identical  peach.  "Where  is  my  peach  gone?'  he 
said.  The  three  boys  were  dreadfully  frightened,  and 
the  two  eldest  denied  knowing  anything  about  it,  but 
the  youngest   said,   "We  picked  it  and  ate  it   up." 


6  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1861 

The  old  man  said  nothing,  but  went  home  and  altered 
his  will  thai  very  afternoon,  and  when  he  was  killed 
by  an  accident  three  weeks  afterwards,  his  youngest 
nephew  was  found  to  be  the  heir  of  Akeley  Heads. 

1  was  frequently  invited  by  Dean  Waddington,  who 
was  a  man  of  stately  presence,  "  grand  seigneur,  fas- 
tueux,  honime  dn  monde,"  and  had  a  great  reputation 
for  learning  and  cleverness;  but  in  my  acquaintance 
with  him  he  seemed  to  care  for  nothing  but  his  din- 
ner,  and  his  chief  topic  of  conversation  was  his  sherry 
of  1815,  for  which  he  gave  £V1  a  dozen.  "  What 
with  diner  a  la  Russe,  crinoline,  and  pale  sherry,"  he 
said  one  day,  "England  is  fast  going  to  the  dogs." 

To  my  Mother. 

"Dilston,  August  28.  The  Greys  gave  me  a  warm  wel- 
come to  Dilston  —  Mr.  Grey  being  agent  for  the  Greenwich 
Hospital  Estates  there,  and  a  great  agriculturist.  Dilston 
is  lovely.  The  house  stands  on  a  terraced  height,  covered 
with  hanging  woods,  beneath  which  flows  the  Devil's 
Water,  the  most  beautiful  of  Northumbrian  rivers,  with 
trout  dancing  about  in  its  transparent  brown  currents,  and 
floating  away  over  its  crumpled-looking  rocks.  On  the 
hilltop  is  the  ruined  castle  of  the  Earl  of  Derwentwater, 
with  his  nursery,  now  overgrown  by  huge  elder-trees,  and 
the  little  chapel  beneath  which  he  was  buried  at  night  be- 
side his  ancestors.  Below  is  the  old  grey  pointed  bridge, 
upon  which,  as  he  rode  over,  he  repented  of  his  rebellion 
and  turned  hack  to  the  castle,  when  his  wife  threw  her  tan 
at  him,  and  calling  him  a  coward,  drove  him  forth  to  his 
destruction." 

"Ridley  Hall,  Sept.  1.  'How  happily  the  days  of 
Thalaba  roll  by'  might  he  applied  to  all  the  dwellers  at 
Ridley  Hall;  for  'Cousin  Susan'  is  so  truly  genial  to  her 


1861]  WORK   IX   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  7 

many  guests,  that   they  cannot  fail   to  enjoy  being  with 
her." 

"  Chillingham  Castle,  Sept.  6.  I  went  with  Cousin  Susan 
to  spend  two  days  at  Matfen,  Sir  Edward  Blackett's,  a 
large  modern  Tudor  house  with  a  church  beside  it,  looking 
into  a  great  park,  and  entered  through  a  stately  gothic 
hall.  Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Blackett  have  not  been  mar- 
ried many  years,  but  four  of  his  daughters  by  his  first  wife 
are  now  out.  Lady  Blackett  also  had  another  Northum- 
brian husband,  Mr.  Orde  of  Whitfield,  and,  as  daughter  of 
Sir  Charles  Lorraine,  was  once  thought  a  great  beauty. 
Sir  Edward  drove  me  to  see  Aydon,  a  curious  old  castle 
which  belongs  to  him. 

"  Yesterday  I  came  to  Chillingham  from  Belford,  a 
beautiful  drive,  over  hills  first,  and  then  descending  into 
moorland,  purple  with  heather,  and  bounded  by  the 
Cheviots,  which  rose  deep  blue  against  the  sunset  sky. 
The  castle,  which  is  partly  as  old  as  King  John,  is  built 
round  a  great  courtyard,  from  which  nights  of  stone  steps 
go  up  to  the  principal  apartments.  On  the  stairs  I  found 
Lord  Tankerville,  a  handsome  middle-aged  man,  with  grey 
hair,  romping  with  his  children.  He  is  quite  charming, 
so  merry  and  so  courteous.  He  took  me  at  once  to  my 
room,  which  is  high  up  in  one  of  the  old  towers,  and  at 
eight  we  dined.  Lady  Tankerville  is  sister  of  the  Duke 
of  Manchester,  very  pretty,  and  looks  quite  a  girl,  though 
her  three  boys  must  be  eight,  nine,  and  ten  years  old." 

"  Chillingham,  Sept.  8.  This  park  is  quite  as  beautiful  in 
its  way  as  any  scenery  abroad,  and  much  more  so,  I  think, 
than  any  in  Scotland.  It  is  backed  by  the  Cheviot  Hills, 
and  often  broken  into  deep  dells,  with  little  streamlets 
rushing'  down  them,  and  weird  old  oaks  whose  withered 
branches  are  never  cut  off,  sheltering  herds  of  deer. 
Great  herds  too  of  wild  cattle,  which  are  milk-white,  and 


s 


8  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1861 

have  lived  here  undisturbed  from  time  immemorial,  come 
rushing  everv  now  and  then  down  the  hillsides  like  an 
army,  to  seek  better  pasture  in  the  valley.  Deer  of  every 
kind  are  to  be  seen  upon  the  hills,  and  Lady  Tankerville 
hunts  them  furiously,  tiring  out  twelve  horses  in  succes- 
sion, placed  to  await  her  at  different  points  in  the  park. 
Nothing  can  he  more  lovely  than  the  evening  effects  each 
dav  I  have  been  here,  the  setting  sun  pouring  streams  of 
golden  light  into  the  great  grey  mysterious  basins  of  the 
Cheviots,  amid  which  Marnhon  died  and  Paulinus  bap- 
ti/.ed  the  ancient  Northumbrians. 

••  If  the  place  is  charming,  the  people  are  even  more  so. 
The  family  is  the  happiest  and  most  united  I  have  ever 
seen.  Lord  Tankerville  is  the  best  and  kindest  of  human 
beings.  Lady  Tankerville,  whose  spirits  are  so  exuberant 
she  scarcel}'  knows  how  to  get  rid  of  them,  dotes  on  her 
'  Hossinun,'  plays  with  her  children,  gallops  on  her  horses, 
hunts  her  deer,  and  manages  her  household,  with  equal 
vivacity,  She  is  the  most  amusing  person  possible,  is 
never  ill,  laughs  fine-ladyism  to  scorn,  and  scrambles  about 
the  park,  regardless  of  colds  and  crinolines,  in  all  states  of 
the  weather.  The  three  little  boys,  Charlie,  Georgie,  and 
Peddie,  are  all  quite  as  engaging  in  their  different  ways, 
and  the  two  little  girls  are  lovely  little  creatures. 

"  The  prettiest  story  of  an  acceptance  I  ever  heard  of  is 
that  of  Lord  Tankerville.  He  was  playing  at  billiards 
with  Lady  Olivia  Montagu -when  he  proposed,  but  she  gave 
no  definite  answer.  At  last  she  said,  'I  think  we  must  go 
into  the  drawing-room  now ;  we  have  been  away  long 
enough.'  —  '  But  what  may  I  think,  what  may  I  say  ?  '  he 
asked  in  agitation.  'Say  that  we  have  played  our  game, 
and  that  you  have  won,'  she  answered. 

"Yesterday,  as  soon  as  luncheon  was  over,  Lady  Tank- 
erville and  1  set  off  for  a  regular  good  sketching,  in  which 
she  soon  outstripped  me,  for  her  drawings  are  first-rate. 
In  some  she  has  been  helped  by  Landseer,  who  is  often 


1861]  AVORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  9 

here,  and  who  has  added  beautiful  misty  backgrounds,  and 
put  herds  of  deer  into  her  fern. 

"  In  the  park  is  a  beautiful  old  Peel  tower,  the  home  of 
the  Hepburns." 

"  Chillingham,  Sept.  10.  Lord  Tankerville  says,  'I  do 
not  see  why  any  one  should  ever  go  away  from  a  place  as 
long  as  he  can  make  himself  happy  there.'  On  that  prin- 
ciple I  should  certainly  never  leave  Chillingham,  which  is 
the  pleasantest  place  I  ever  was  at.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
known  Lord  and  Lady  Tankerville  all  my  life,  his  kind- 
ness and  her  fun  make  one  so  entirely  at  home ;  and  as 
for  Charlie,  Georgie,  and  Peddie,  there  never  were  such 
little  boys. 

"  Yesterday  I  was  awakened  by  the  servant  saying  that 
an  order  had  just  come  out  to  have  breakfast  ready  in 
twenty  minutes,  as  we  were  all  going  to  Dunstanborough 
for  the  day.  So  we  hurried  down,  and  as  soon  as  we  had 
eaten  our  breakfast,  set  off  in  two  little  basket-carriages 
across  the  park  and  up  the  steep  hills  to  the  moors.  At 
the  top  we  found  a  larger  carriage,  packed  with  luncheon, 
and  with  plenty  of  wraps,  for  the  day  was  most  unpromis- 
ing; but  Lady  Tankerville  had  quite  made  up  her  mind 
that  it  should  be  fine,  and  that  we  would  enjoy  ourselves ; 
and  so  we  most  certainly  did.  The  drive  across  the  moor- 
lands was  charming,  such  sweeps  of  purple  heather,  with 
blue  mountain  distance.  Then,  after  twelve  miles,  we 
descended  through  the  cornland  to  Dunstanborough,  and 
walked  through  the  sandhills  covered  with  rye-grass  and 
bloody  cranesbill  to  the  castle,  on  a  reef  of  basaltic  rocks 
overhanging  the  sea,  Avhich  in  one  place  roars  up  beneath 
in  a  strange  cavern,  known  as  the  Rumbling  Churn.  Lady 
Tankerville  and  I  drew  Queen  Margaret's  Tower,  where 
she  was  concealed  after  the  battle  of  Hexham,  and  then  we 
picknicked  and  rambled  about.  Coming  home  we  told 
stories.     A  tremendous  shower  came  on,  and  then  the  sky 


Ill  THE    STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1861 

cleared    for  B    -olden   sunset  over  the    mountains,   and  a 
splendid  descent  into  the  old  deer-park/' 

» Bamborough  Castle,  Sept.  12.  Yesterday,  at  four,  we 
set  off  on  a  gypsy  picnic  from  Chillingham  —  little  'Co' 
(Corisande)  on  a  pony,  with  the  tea-things  in  panniers; 
Lady  Tankerville,  a  fat  Mr.  Athelstane  from  Portugal, 
Charlie,  Georgie,  Peddie,  and  I  walking.  The  pouring 
morning  turned  into  a  beautiful  afternoon,  and  we  had  a 
delightful  scramble  through  the  ferny  glades  of  the  park, 
and  up  the  steep  craggy  hills  to  the  moorlands.  Here 
Lady  Tankerville  went  off  through  the  heather  to  look 
after  her  little  girl,  and  I  told  the  three  boys  the  story 
of  Littlecot  Hall,  till  the  Shetland  pony,  '  Piccolomini,' 
arrived  by  the  longer  path.  Then  we  lighted  a  fire  between 
two  rocks,  and  Lady  Tankerville  and  her  children  boiled 
a  kettle  and  cooked  omelets  over  a  fire  of  heather  and  fern, 
and  beautiful  grapes,  greengages,  jam,  and  cakes  unfitted 
us  for  the  eight  o'clock  dinner.  Then  we  came  down  like 
bushrangers,  breaking  a  path  through  the  bracken,  a  great 
deal  taller  than  ourselves,  and  seeing  in  the  distance  the 
herds  of  wild  white  bulls.  One  or  two  people  came  to 
dinner,  but  it  was  just  the  same  simple  merry  meal  as 
usual. 

"  The  Tankervilles  sent  me  here  to-day  —  twelve  miles 
—  in  their  carriage." 

"  Bamhorouyh  Castle,  Sept.  13.  It  is  very  pleasant,  as 
you  will  imagine,  to  be  here  again,  and  I  have  much 
enjoyed  the  delightful  sands  and  the  splendid  green  waves 
which  came  rolling  in  all  yesterday  afternoon.  It  was  a 
lovely  evening,  warm  enough  to  enjoy  sitting  out  on  the 
seat  amongst  the  tall  bent-grass,  and  to  watch  IIolv  Island 
quite  distinct  in  the  sunset,  with  all  the  little  fleet  of  red- 
sailed  herring-boats  coming  round  from  North  Sunderland. 
Old   Mrs.  Liddell  sits   as  usual  in  her  deep  window  and 


1861]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  H 

looks  tlirough  the  telescope.  Amelia  wanders  about  with 
her  black  spaniel,  and  Charlotte  rides  furiously  on  the 
sands  when  out,  and  talks  incessantly,  though  pleasantly, 
when  in.'' 

"  Bamborough,  Sept.  16.  Yesterday  I  set  off  at  8  A.  m. 
in  a  dogcart  for  Holy  Island,  one  of  the  castle  cart-horses 
being  harnessed  for  the  purpose,  and  the  castle  joiner 
going  with  me  to  find  old  wood  for  repairs.  It  was  a  wild 
morning,  but  gleams  of  light  made  the  country  pictu- 
resque, and  Warren  Bay  looked  very  striking,  backed  by 
its  angular  purple  hills,  and  strewn  with  pieces  of  wreck, 
over  which  sea-birds  were  swooping.  Only  one  bit  of 
sand  was  visible  when  we  reached  the  ford,  but  the  horse 
plunged  gallantly  in.  Then  we  had  a  very  rough  crossing 
of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  a  boat  tlirough  the  great  green 
waves  to  the  island,  where  we  landed  on  the  yellow  rocks. 
Close  by,  on  the  green  hill,  stand  the  ruins,  so  well 
described  in  '  Marmion,'  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Abbey,  the  old 
cathedral  of  Lindisfarne  —  rather  small  after  descriptions, 
but  beautiful  in  colour,  and  its  massive  round  pillars,  with 
patterns  upon  them,  almost  unique  in  England.  Beyond, 
was  the  still  blue  harbour  filled  with  fishing-boats,  and  the 
shore  was  lined  with  men  and  women  packing  herrings  in 
barrels  of  salt.  At  one  corner  of  the  bay  rises  the  castle 
on  a  conical  hill  like  a  miniature  Mont  St.  Michel,  and 
Bamborough  and  Dunstanborough  are  blue  in  the  hazy 
distance." 

"Sept.  17.  Stephen  Denison  is  here  (my  cousin  by  lii^ 
marriage  with  Miss  Fellows  2),  and  I  have  been  with  him 
to  pay  a  long  visit  to  Grace  Darling's2  old  father,  an  inter- 
esting man,  with  as  much  information  as  it  is  possible  for 

1  Susan,  5th  daughter  of  Thomas  Lyon  of  Hetton,  married  the  Rev. 
J.  Fellowes  of  Shottesham. 

2  The  heroine  of  the  wreck  of  the  Forfarshire,  Sept.  5,  18-'i8. 


[2 


Till-:   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE 


[1861 


any  one  to  have  who  has  Lived  since  he  was  one  year  old 
mi  a  desolate  island  rock  tending  a  lighthouse.  He  lent 
us  his  diary  to  read,  which  is  very  curious,  and  an  awful 
record  of  wrecks  and  misery." 

"  Ridley  Hall,   Sept.    19.      Cousin   Susan   and   her   old 
friend   Miss   Coulson,  with   'the    boys'   (the  dogs),   were 


ON    ALLEN    AVATER,    KIDLEY    HALL 


waiting  to  welcome  me  in  the  avenue,  when  I  got  out  at 
the  private  station  here.  The  house  is  quite  full  of  people, 
to  whom  it  is  amusing  to  help  to  do  the  honours.  Great 
is  the  autumnal  beauty  of  the  place.  I  have  been  with 
( lousin  Susan  up  the  Birky  Brae,  and  down  by  the  Craggy 
Pass  and  the  Hawk's  Nest  —  streams  of  sunlight  falling 
upon  the  rocks  and  river,  and  lighting  up  the  yellow  and 
red  leaves  which  now  mingle  with  the  green.  The  dogs 
walked  with  ns  to  church  to-day  —  Tarlie  was  allowed  to 
enter  with  the  family,  and   Bloomer  with  the  maids,  but 


1861]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  13 

Perette,   Bianca,  Fritz,  and  the    Chowdy-Tow  were   sent 
back  from  the  door ! 

"  We  have  had  a  remarkable  visit  from  an  old  Miss 
Clayton,  an  eccentric,  strangely-attired,  old,  very  old  lady, 
who  had  travelled  all  the  way  from  Chesters,  on  North 
Tyne,  to  see  Staward  Peel,  and  then  had  rambled  on  foot 
hither  down  the  rocks  by  the  Allen.  Both  she  and  her 
friend  had  fallen  into  the  river  in  crossing  the  stepping- 
stones  above  the  wood,  and  arrived,  carrying  a  large  reti- 
cule basket,  and  dripping  with  wet  and  mud,  about  five 
o'clock ;  yet,  as  soon  as  she  had  been  dried  and  fed,  she 
insisted  on  setting  off  again  on  foot  to  visit  Haltwhistle 
and  Bellister  Castle  before  going  home  at  night !  " 

"  Streatlam  Castle,  Sept.  25.  I  came  with  Cousin  Susan 
to  this  curious  place,  to  which  our  cousin  Mr.  Bowes  '  has 
welcomed  us  very  cordially.  The  house  is  in  a  hollow  — 
an  enormous  building  of  the  last  century,  enclosing  a 
mediaeval  castle.  I  sleep  in  the  ghost-room,  looking  most 
grim  and  weird  from  its  black  oak  with  red  hangings,  and 
containing  a  tall  bed  with  a  red  canopy.  Here  the  only 
existing  local  Handbook  says  that  '  the  unfortunate  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  expired  in  captivity.'  I  am  afraid  the 
next  Handbook  will  be  obliged  to  confess  that  she  was 
beheaded  at  Fotheringay. 

"  The  long  galleries  are  full  of  family  portraits  —  Hyl- 
tons,  Blakistons,  and  Bowes's  —  one  of  whom,  Miss  Bowes 
of  Streatlam,  was  Mrs.  John  Knox !  More  interesting  to 
me  is  the  great  picture  of  Mary  Eleanor,  the  unhappy 
Countess  of  Strathmore,2  walking  in  the  gardens  of  Pauls- 
Walden.  This  house  was  the  scene  of  her  most  terrible 
suffering's." 


xb 


"Streatlam  Castle,  Sept.  27.     This  is  the  oddest  house 
I  ever  was  in !     Everything  is  arranged  for  you,  from  the 

1  Only  son  of  John,  10th  Earl  of  Strathmore,  and  Mary  Milner. 

2  Mary  Eleanor  Bowes,  9th  Countess  of  Stratlmiore. 


14  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [18G1 

moment  you  get  up  till  the  moment  you  go  to  bed,  and 
you  axe  never  allowed  to  deviate  from  the  rules  Laid  down: 
I  even  write  this  in  time  stolen  from  the  half-hour  for 
dressing.  We  are  called  at  eight,  and  at  ten  march  in  to 
breakfast  with  the  same  procession  as  at  dinner,  only  at 
this  meal  'Madame  Bowes'  does  not  appear,  for  she  is  then 
reclining  in  a  hath  of  eoal-hlaek  aeid,  which  "refreshes  her 
system,"  but  leaves  her  nails  black.  After  breakfast  we  are 
all  set  down  to  employments  appointed  for  the  morning. 
At  twelve  Madame  appears,  having  painted  the  underlids 
of  her  jet-black  eyes  with  belladonna.  At  two  the  bell 
rings  for  luncheon,  and  we  are  fetched  if  not  punctual  to 
an  instant.  At  three  we  are  all  sent  out  driving  (the 
coachman  having  exact  orders  where  to  take  us)  immense 
drives  (twenty-four  miles  to-day)  in  an  open  barouche  and 
pair.  At  seven  we  dine  in  great  splendour,  and  after- 
wards we  sit  in  the  oak  drawing-room  and  talk  about  our 
ancestors  ! 

"  The  town  of  Barnard  Castle  is  most  picturesque,  with 
a  ruined  castle  of  the  Baliols.  Dickens,  in  early  life,  used 
frequently  to  come  down  and  stay  there  with  some  young 
artist  friends  of  his.  The  idea  of  '  Humphrey's  Clock ' 
first  sprung  from  Humphrey,  the  watchmaker  in  the  town, 
and  the  picture  in  the  beginning  of  the  book  is  of  the 
clock  over  the  door  of  his  shop.  While  at  Barnard  Castle, 
Dickens  heard  of  the  school  at  Bowes  which  he  afterwards 
worked  up  as  Dotheboys  Hall.  Many  of  these  schools,  at 
£15  and  £20  a  year,  existed  at  that  time  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  were  principally  used  for  the  sons  of  London 
tradesmen,  avIio,  provided  their  sons  got  a  moderate  educa- 
tion, cared  little  or  nothing  what  became  of  them  in  the 
meantime.  Dickens  went  over  to  see  the  school  at  Bowes, 
and  was  carefully  shown  over  it,  for  they  mistook  him  for 
a  parent  coming  to  survey  it,  with  a  view  of  sending  his 
son  there.  Afterwards  the  school  was  totally  ruined.  At 
one  of  Mr.   Bowles's  elections,  the  Nicholas  Nickleby  or 


1861]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  15 

former  usher  of  the  school,  who  was  then  in  want  of  a 
place,  wrote  to  him  to  say  in  what  poverty  he  was.  He 
'had  formerly  been  living  with  Mr.  Shawe  at  Bowes,  and 
they  had  been  happy  and  prosperous,  when  Mr.  Dickens's 
misguided  volume,  sweeping  like  a  whirlwind  over  the 
schools  of  the  North,  caused  Mr.  Shawe  to  become  a  victim 
to  paralysis,  and  brought  Mrs.  Shawe  to  an  untimely 
grave.' " 

"Morpeth  Rectory,  Oct.  8.  My  present  host  is  Mr. 
Francis  Grey,  an  old  likeness  of  his  nephew,  Charlie 
Wood :  his  wife,  nee  Lady  Elizabeth  Howard  is  as  sweet- 
looking  as  she  is  charming. 

"  Friday  morning  was  pouring,  with  a  thick  sea-fog 
hiding  the  country.  Nevertheless  Mr.  Grey  did  not  think 
it  too  bad  for  a  long  expedition,  and  drove  me  in  his  little 
pony-carriage  a  dreary  twelve  miles  to  Wallington,  where 
we  arrived  about  half-past  twelve.  Wallington  is  a  huge 
house  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Trevelyans,  represented 
in  the  North  by  Sir  Walter,  who  is  at  the  head  of  teetotallers 
and  Low  Churchmen,  while  his  wife  is  a  great  friend  of 
Ruskin,  Rossetti,  and  all  the  Pre-Raphaelites.  It  is  like  a 
French  chateau,  with  tall  roofs  and  chimneys,  enclosing  a 
hall,  once  a  court,  which  Lady  Trevelyan  and  her  artists 
have  covered  in  and  painted  with  beautiful  fresco  studies 
of  Northumbrian  birds,  flowers,  and  insects,  while  the 
intervening  spaces  are  filled  with  a  series  of  large  pictures 
of  the  chief  events  in  Northumbrian  history  —  very  curious 
indeed. 

"  Lady  Trevelyan 1  is  a  little,  bright,  black-eyed  woman, 
who  was  charmed  to  see  us,  and  more  to  see  my  drawings, 
which  Mr.  Grey  had  brought.  Any  good  opinion  of  me, 
however,  which  they  led  her  to  entertain  was  quelched  by 
my  want  of  admiration  for  some  wretched  little  scraps  by 
Ruskin  —  very  scratchy  sketches,  after  his  manner.  After 
1  Paulina,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  D.  Jermyn. 


16  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1861 

Luncheon,  which  was  as  peculiar  as  anything  else  (Lady 
Trevelyan  and  her  artists  feeding  solely  on  artichokes  and 
cauliflowers),  we  went  to  the  upper  galleries  to  look  at 
more  pictures. 

"  YTesterday  morning  we  went  to  the  fine  old  Morpeth 
Church,  which  has  been  "restored,'  one  of  the  stained 
windows  having  been  put  in  by  a  poor  old  woman  in  the 
village.  We  saw  her  afterwards  in  her  garden  gathering 
cabbages,  and  I  told  her  I  had  seen  the  window.  'Eh, 
hinnie,'  she  said,  *  and  ain't  it  bonnie?  and  I  be  going  to 
case  it  i'  marble  afore  I  dee,  to  mak  it  bonnier.'  And 
then  she  said,  'And  noo  come  ben,  hinnie,  my  dear,  and 
see  me  hoose ; '  and  she  showed  me  her  cottage." 

"  The  Greys  are  one  of  the  families  who  have  a  sort 
of  language  of  their  own.  A  bad  cold  the  Greys  always 
call  a  Shelley,  because  of  a  famous  cold  old  Lady  Shelley 
had  when  she  came  to  stay  with  them.  This  was  the  Lady 
Shelley  who,  when  her  carriage,  full  of  people,  upset,  and 
there  was  a  great  entanglement  of  legs,  called  out  to  the 
footman,  who  came  to  extricate  them,  'John,  the  black 
ones  are  mine  —  the  black  ones  are  mine.' " 

"  Warkworih,  Oct.  6.  It  is  very  pleasant  being  here 
with  my  kind  Clutterbuck  cousins,1  and  this  old-fashioned 
house,  though  small,  is  most  refined  and  comfortable,  with 
its  pervading  smell  of  rose-leaves  and  lavender." 

"  TJte  Bock,  Alnwick,  Oct.  10.  I  am  now  staying  with 
the  father  of  a  college  friend,  Charlie  Bosanquet,  in  a 
pleasant  old-fashioned  house,  an  enlarged  '  Peel  tower.' 
The  family  are  very  united,  genial  and  kind;  are  friends 
of  the  Arnolds,  Gaskells,  &c,  and  related  to  Mr.  Erskine 
of  Linlathen.  I  like  Charlie  Bosanquet  so  much  in  his 
own  home,  that  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  not  having  tried  to 

1  Mrs.  Clutterbuck  was  Marianne,  youngest  daughter  of  the  Hon. 
Thomas  Lyon  of  Hetton,  my  great-grandmother's  youngest  brother. 


1861]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  17 

cultivate  him  more  when  at  Oxford.  Yesterday  he  drove 
me  to  Craster  Tower,  the  old  castellated  house  of  the 
Crasters,  a  very  ancient  Northumbrian  family,  now  well 
represented  by  the  old  Squire  and  his  wife,  their  three  tall 
daughters,  and  seven  stalwart  sons,  one  of  whom  was  at 
college  with  me.  After  luncheon  we  went  over  the  tower, 
its  vaulted  cellars  and  thickly  Availed  rooms,  and  then 
walked  to  the  wild  heights  of  Dunstanborough,  with  its 
ruins  overhanging  the  waves,  and  large  white  gulls  floating 
up  from  the  '  caverned  shore '  of  '  Marmion.'  Then  we  went 
to  Embleton  to  see  one  of  the  curious  fortified  rectories  of 
the  North  —  fortified  against  the  Scots." 

'•'■Ford  Castle,  Oct.  15.  I  enjoyed  my  visit  at  Rock 
increasingly,  and  we  made  interesting  excursions  to  Fal- 
loden  and  Howick.  At  the  former  we  dined  with  Sir 
George  and  Lady  Grey.  On  Sunday  the  beautiful  little 
Norman  chapel  at  Rock  was  filled  from  end  to  end  with 
the  whole  population  of  the  village,  all  responding,  all 
singing,  and  forty-three  (in  that  tiny  place)  remaining  to 
the  Sacrament.  Mrs.  Bosanquet  says  they  are  truly  a 
God-fearing  people.  They  live  (as  all  over  Northumbria ) 
bound  by  the  year  like  serfs,  close  around  the  large 
farms.  At  Rock  the  people  seem  perfectly  devoted  to  the 
Bosanquets,  who  are  certainly  quite  devoted  to  them. 
'  My  Missis  herself  can't  feel  it  more  than  I  do,'  said  the 
gamekeeper  when  he  heard  the  sailor  son  was  coming 
home. 

"  Yesterda}-  morning  I  set  off  directly  after  breakfast 
with  Charles  Bosanquet,  in  the  sociable,  on  a  long  expe- 
dition. It  was  a  really  lovely  day,  and  the  drive  over  the 
wild  moorlands,  with  the  pink  and  blue  Cheviot  distances, 
was  quite  beautiful.  At  one  we  reached  Hedgeley,  where 
we  had  been  asked  to  luncheon  at  the  fine  old  house  of  the 
Carrs,  looking  up  a  mountain  ravine,  but  a  soldier-son  first 
took  us  up  to  Crawley  Tower,  a  neighbouring  ruined  Peel. 

VOL.  II.  2 


IS  THE    STORY   OF   MY  LIFE  [1861 

At  three  we  came  on  to  Roddam,  where  an  uncle  and  aunt 
of  Charlie  Bosanquet's  live  —  a  beautiful  place,  with  a 
terraced  garden  almost  overhanging  the  moorlands,  and  a 
dene  stretching  up  into  the  Cheviots.  I  had  ordered 
a  gig  to  meet  me  and  take  me  to  Ford,  where  I  arrived 
aboul  half-past  six,  seeming  to  lie  driving  into  a  sort  of 
gothic  castle  of  Otranto,  as  we  passed  under  the  portcullis 
in  the  bright  moonlight.  1  found  Lady  Waterford  sitting 
with  her  charming  old  mother.  Lady  Stuart  de  Rothesay. 
.  .  .  Her  drawings  arc  indescribably  lovely,  and  her  sing- 
ing most  beautiful  and  pathetic.  Several  people  appeared 
at  dinner,  amongst  them  Lord  Waterford  (the  brother-in- 
law  •),  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table,  a  jovial  white-headed 
young-old  man." 

"  Ford  Castle,  Oct.  17.  Being  here  has  been  most 
pleasant,  there  is  so  much  to  do  and  see  both  indoors  and 
out.  Lady  Waterford  is  perfectly  charming.  .  .  .  She  is 
now  occupied  in  putting  the  whole  architecture  of  the 
castle  hack  two  centuries.  Painting  is  her  great  employ- 
ment, and  all  evening  she  makes  studies  for  larger  draw- 
ings,  which  she  works  upon  in  the  mornings.  She  is  going 
to  make  a  *  Marmion  gallery'  in  the  castle  to  illustrate  the 
poem. 

"Yesterday  we  went  to  Palinsburn,  where  Paulinus 
baptized,  and  on  to  Branxton  to  see  .Mr.  Jones,  who  is  the 
great  authority  about  the  battle  of  Flodden,  which  he 
described  to  us  till  all  the  dull  ploughed  fields  seemed 
alive  with  heroes  and  armies.  He  is  coming  to-night  to 
talk  about  it  again,  for  Flodden  seems  to  be  the  great 
topic  here,  the  windows  of  the  castle  looking  out  upon  the 
battle-field.  The  position  of  the  different  armies  and  the 
site  of  Sybil's  Well  are  discussed  ten  times  a  day,  and 
Lady  Waterford  herself  is  still  sufficiently  a  stranger  here 
to  be  full  of  her  first  interest  about  it. 

"To-day  the  pony-carriage  took  me  part  of  the  way  to 


1861] 


WORK  IX   NORTHERN    COUNTIES 


19 


the  Rowting  Lynn,  a  curious  cleft,  and  waterfall  in  the 
moorland,  with  a  k  Written  Rock,'  supposed  to  have  been 
the  work  of  ancient  Britons.  Thence  I  walked  by  a  wild 
path  along  the  hills  to  Nesbitt,  where  I  had  heard  that 
there  was  a  chapel  of  St.  Cuthbert,  of  which  I  found  no 
vestiges,  and  on  to  Doddington,  where  there  is  a  Border 
castle.  If  you  look  on  the  map,  you  will  see  that  this  was 
doing  a  great  deal,  and  I  was  very  glad  to  get  back  at  five 
to  hot  tea  and  a  talk  with  Lady  Stuart." 


W 


■:--•-•       ■    -'  :■■■?...    c  -...  --■ 


FORD    CASTLE,    THE    TERRACE. 


"Boddam,  Oct.  20.  I  had  not  promised  to  return  here, 
and  I  was  received  almost  rapturously,  so  welcome  is  any 
stray  guest  in  this  desolate  place.  .  .  .  Sunday  here  was  a 
curious  contrast  to  that  at  Rock,  for  though  there  is  a 
population  of  nine  hundred,  the  Rector  waited  for  us  to 
begin  afternoon  service,  as  no  one  else  came ! '' 

"  Boddam,,  Oct.  22.  Yesterday  was  terribly  dark  and 
cold,  but  we  went  a  long  expedition  across  the  moorland 


20  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1861 

to  the  Raven's  Burn,  a  wild  tumbling  rivulet  in  a  chaos  of 
grey  rocks,  and  thence  by  the  farm  of  'Blaw  Weary'  — 
picturesquely  perched  upon  rocks  which  were  covered 
with  white  goats,  like  a  bit  of  Roman  Campagna — to 
the  'Raven's  Rock'  in  a  rugged  cleft  of  the  moorland. 
To-day  I  have  been  to  Linhope  Spout,  a  waterfall  at  the 
end  of  a  gorge,  and  to-morrow  we  go  to  the  Three  Stone 
Burn,  where  there  are  Druidical  remains." 

"  Bipley  Castle,  Yorkshire,  Oct.  25.  Lady  Ingilby  (who 
is  sister  of  Mr.  Bosanquet  of  Rock)  kindly  pressed  my 
coming  here  on  my  wa}^  south,  and  here  I  am.  It  is  a  line 
old  castle  added  to,  about  four  miles  from  Harrogate,  with 
beautiful  gardens  and  a  lovely  neighbourhood.  At  the 
head  of  the  stairs  is  the  portrait  of  a  Nun,  who  is  said  to 
descend  from  her  picture  at  night  and  tap  at  the  bedroom 
doors,  when,  if  any  one  says,  '  Come  in '  —  in  she  comes. 
Eugene  Aram  was  the  gardener  here,  and  the  Ingilbys 
have  all  his  letters.  Cromwell  insisted  on  taking  the 
castle,  but  the  then  Lady  Ingilby,  a  staunch  Royalist 
known  as  'Trooper  Jane,'  would  not  let  him  have  either 
food  or  rest  there,  and  sat  opposite  him  all  the  night 
through  with  two  loaded  pistols  in  her  girdle/" 

"Hickledon  Hall,  Yorkshire,  Oct.  27.  Sir  Charles 
Wood's  carriage  was  waiting  at  Doncaster  for  me  and  a 
very  nice  young  Seymour.1  Charlie  seems  delighted  to 
have  me  here,  and  I  think  Sir  Charles  quite  charming,  not 
a  bit  as  if  he  had  the  government  of  all  India  upon  his 
shoulders." 

Many  of  the  visits  which  I  paid  in  1861  laid  the 
foundation  of  after  friendships,  but  chiefly  that  to 
Ford,  whither  I  went  again  and  again  afterwards, 

1  Afterwards  Lord  Wilfred  Seymour. 


H 
ai 

X 

X 

s 

o 

a 

o 
fa 


1861]  WORK  IN  NORTHERN   COUNTIES  21 

and  where  I  have  passed  some  of  the  happiest  days 
of  nry  life.  Lord  and  Lady  Tanker  ville,  after  a  few 
years,  passed  out  of  my  horizon  —  I  never  have  quite 
known  how  or  why.  The  Liddells,  Mrs.  Clutterbuck 
and  her  daughters,  and  the  saintly  Lady  Ingilby, 
added  much  to  my  enjoyment  for  several  years. 
This  was  especially  happy  for  me,  as  I  see  by  my 
journals  of  the  time  how  in  the  following  winter 
I  felt  more  than  ever  depressed  by  the  constant 
snubbing  I  received  from  different  members  of  my. 
immediate  family.  Such  snubs  are  trifling  in  them- 
selves, but,  like  constant  dropping  of  water  in  one 
place,  they  wear  away  the  spirit  at  last.  All  this 
time  my  sister  was  bravely  exerting  herself  in  cheer- 
ing her  mother  and  aunt,  as  well  as  in  a  clever  (and 
eventually  successful)  scheme  for  the  improvement 
of  their  fortunes.  Miss  Hughan  (afterwards  Lady 
John  Manners)  showed  her  at  this  time  an  unwearied 
kindness  which  I  can  never  forget. 

To  my  Sister. 

"  Holmlmrst,  Dec.  18,  1861.  I  went  to-day  to  see  three 
ladies  take  the  veil  in  the  convent  at  Hastings.  I  had  to 
get  up  in  the  cold  early  morning  and  be  in  the  chapel  by 
half-past  eight.  At  nine  the  Bishop  of  Brighton  arrived 
in  a  gold  robe  and  mitre,  and  took  his  place  with  his  back 
to  the  altar,  leaning  against  it.  Then  a  side  door  opened, 
and  a  procession  came  in  singing  —  some  nuns,  and  the 
three  brides  of  Christ  dressed  in  white  watered  silk,  lace 
veils,  and  orange  flowers.  There  were  six  little  brides- 
maids also  in  white  veils  and  wreaths.  The  brides  looked 
ghastly  livid,  and  one  of  them  would  have  fallen  if  a  nun 
had  not  rushed  forward  to  support  her.     The  Bishop  then 


22  T1IE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE   #  [1861 

made  them  an  address,  the  point  of  which  was  that  they 
were  not  going  into  a  convent  for  their  own  benefit  or  that 
of  the  world,  but   Eor  'the  consolation  of  Christ'  —  that 

was  to  be  their  work  and  duty  through  life — 'the  consola- 
tion of  Christ  for  the  sins  of  the  world.'  Then  he  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  them  like  a  basilisk  and  cried,  'Venite.' 
They  tottered,  quivered,  but  scarcely  moved;  again  in  a 
louder  voice  he  called  •Venite;1  they  trembled  and 
advanced  a  few  steps.  Once  more  *  Venite,'  and  they  all 
three  fell  down  prostrate  at  his  feet. 

"Then  the  most  solemn  music  was  played,  the  most 
agonising  wailing  dirges  were  sung,  and  the  nuns  coming 
behind  with  a  great  black  pall,  spread  it  over  the  prostrate 
figures.  It  was  as  if  they  were  dead.  The  bridesmaids 
strewed  flowers,  rosemary  and  laurestinus,  as  they  sang 
out  of  their  books:  the  spectators  cried  and  sobbed  till 
they  were  almost  hysterical ;  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
but  the  sunlight  streaming  in  upon  a  great  black  pall. 

"Then  all  the  saints  of  the  monastic  orders  were  in- 
voked and  responded  to,  and  then  the  nuns  closed  in,  so 
that  no  one  could  see  how  the  three  novices  were  hurried 
away,  only  to  reappear  in  their  nun's  dress.  Then  they 
received  the  Sacrament. 

••It  is  impossible  to  say  how  well  this  little  Holmhurst 
seems  suited  to  the  mother.  There  is  still  a  lingering  of 
autumnal  leaves  and  flowers,  and  the  grey  castle  rises 
against  a  gleaming  sea.  Thinking  of  her,  and  of  our 
home  view  as  it  is  now,  one  cannot  help  recalling  Keble's 
lines  :  — 

'  How  quiet  shows  the  woodland  scene, 
Each  flower  and  tree,  its  duty  done, 
Reposing  in  decay  serene, 

Like  weary  men  when  age  is  won. 
Such  calm  did  age  as  conscience  pure 
And  self-commanding  heart  ensure, 
Waiting  their  summons  to  the  sky, 
Content  to  live,  but  not  afraid  to  die.'" 


1861] 


WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES 


23 


Journal. 

"  Holmhurst,  Dec.  27.  It  was  on  Monday,  the  16th, 
that  I  was  sitting  in  my  study  in  the  twilight,  when  the 
mother  came  in  suddenly.  She  had  been  down  to  Hast- 
ings with  Mrs.  Colegrave  and  Miss  Chichester  to  see 
Florence  Colegrave  at  the  convent,  and  there  first  heard 
the  dreadful  news  of  the  event  of  Saturday.  Seeing  her 
so  much  agitated  terrified  me  to  the  last  degree.  I 
.thought  that  it  was  Arthur  who  was  dead,  and  when  I 
heard    that   it   was    the    Prince    Consort,  the   shock   was 


ENTRANCE    TO     HOLMHURST:         HUZ    AND    BUZ. 


almost  as  great.  It  seems  impossible  to  realise  that  one 
will  not  be  able  to  say  'the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert'  any 
more :  it  is  a  personal  affliction  to  every  one,  and  the  feel- 
ing of  sympathy  for  the  Queen  is  overpowering.  The 
Prince  sank  from  the  time  he  read  the  letter  about  the 
deaths  of  the  King  and  Princes  of  Portugal.  Then  they 
tried  to  persuade  him  not  to  see  the  messengers  win) 
returned  from  taking-  the  letters  of  condolence:  he  insisted 


24  THE  STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1861 

upon  doing  SO,  and  never  rallied.  .  .  .  From  the  first  the 
Prince  thought  that  he  should  not  live,  and  from  the 
Wednesday  Sir  Henry  Holland  thought  so  too,  and  wrote 
in  the  first  bulletin.  ' Hitherto  no  unfavorable  symptoms,' 
to  prepare  the  public  mind;  but  the  Queen  came  into 
the  anteroom,  saw  the  bulletin,  and  scratched  out  the 
'hitherto:  '  she  would  entertain  no  idea  of  danger  till  the 
last.1  .  .  .  When  the  Prince  was  dying,  he  repeated  the 
h\  urn  -Rock  of  Ages.'  ...  A  letter  from  Windsor  Castle 
to  Mr.  P.  describes  the  consternation  and  difficulty  as  to 
how  the  Queen  was  to  be  told  of  the  danger :  no  one  would 
tell  her.  At  last  Princess  Alice  relieved  them  all  by  say- 
ing, "  I  will  tell  her,'  and  took  her  out  for  a  drive.  During 
the  drive  she  told  the  Queen  that  the  Prince  could  not 
recover.  When  he  died,  the  Queen  gave  one  piercing, 
heart-rending  scream,  which  echoed  all  over  the  castle, 
and  which  those  who  stood  by  said  they  could  never  for- 
get, and  threw  herself  upon  the  body.  Then  she  rose  and 
collected  her  children  and  spoke  to  them,  telling  them  that 
they  must  rally  round  her,  and  that,  next  to  God,  she 
should  henceforth  look  to  them  for  support. 

"  C.  W.  sends  an  odd  story  about  the  King  of  Portugal. 
After  his  death,  Princess  Alice  made  a  drawing  of  him 
lying  dead,  and,  at  the  top  of  the  drawing,  the  gates  of 
heaven,  with  Queen  Stephanie  waiting  to  receive  the  spirit 
of  her  husband.  A  little  while  after,  M.  Lavradio  sent 
the  Queen  a  long  account  of  the  King's  illness,  in  which 
it  was  said  that  when  the  King  lay  dying  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep,  and  woke  up  after  some  little  time  saying  thai 
he  had  dreamt,  and  wished  he  could  have  gone  on  dream- 
ing, that  he  lav  dead,  and  that  his  spirit  was  going  up  to 
heaven,  and  that  at  the  gates  he  saw  '  Stephanie  '  waiting 
t<>  welcome  him  in.  Everything  fresh  that  one  hears  of 
Prince  Albert  makes  one  realise,  'Le  prince  e'tait  grand, 
1'homme  l'dtait  davantage.' "2 

1  Arthur  Stanley's  account.  2  Montesquieu. 


1861]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  25 

In  the  course  of  the  winter  I  was  at  Miss  Leices- 
ter's house  in  Wilton  Crescent,  and  saw  there  Miss 
Marsh  and  Sir  Culling  Eardley,  both  of  whom  told 
me  much  that  was  curious.  I  remember  Sir  Culling 
Eardley' s  saying,  "  I  feel  sure  that  the  destruction 
of  the  temporal  power  will  be  the  end  of  the  Papacy, 
and  I  am  also  sure  that  there  is  one  person  who 
agrees  with  me,  and  that  is  Pio  Nono ! ':  He  also 
told  me  that  — 

"  One  morning  Mrs.  Pitcairn  at  Torquay  told  her  hus- 
band that  she  had  been  very  much  disturbed  by  a  dream. 
She  said  she  had  seen  her  little  boy  of  four  years  old  car- 
ried into  the  house  dreadfully  crushed  and  hurt,  and  that 
all  the  principal  doctors  in  the  town  —  Madden,  Mackin- 
tosh, &c.  — had  come  in  one  after  the  other  to  see  him. 

"  Her  husband  laughed  at  her  fears,  but  said,  '  Whatever 
you  do,  don't  tell  this  to  the  boy;  it  would  only  frighten 
him  unnecessarily.'  However,  Mrs.  Pitcairn  did  not 
promise,  and  when  her  husband  was  gone  out,  she  called 
her  little  boy  to  her,  and  taking  him  on  her  knee,  spoke 
to  him  very  seriously,  saying,  '  If  anything  happened  to 
you  now,  where  would  you  be  ? '  &c. 

"That  afternoon,  the  little  boy  went  with  his  elder 
brother  to  see  some  new  houses  his  father  was  building. 
In  crossing  the  highest  floor,  the  ill-fastened  boards  gave 
way,  and  he  fell,  passing  through  all  the  floors,  into  the 
cellar.  Half-an-hour  afterwards  his  mother  saw  him  car- 
ried into  the  house,  and  all  the  doctors  come  in  to  see  him, 
one  after  another,  in  the  exact  order  of  her  dream. 

"The  little  boy  recovered;  but  four  years  after,  his  elder 
brother,  playing  on  the  shore  at  Babbicombe,  pulled  down 
some  rocks  upon  himself,  and  was  killed  upon  the  spot." 

In  March  1862  an  event  occurred  which  caused  a 
great  blank  in  our  circle,  and  which  perhaps  made 


26  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1861 

more  change  in  my  life  than  any  other  death  outside 
m\    own  home  could  have  clone  —  that  of  my  aunt 

Mrs.  Stanley. 

Journal. 

" Holmhurst,  March  23,  18G2.  In  March  last  year  dear 
Uncle  Penrhyn  died.     Aunt  Kitty  was  with  him,  and  fell 

it  deeply.  Now  she  also,  on  the  same  day  of  the  same 
week,  the  first  anniversary  of  his  death,  has  passed  away 
from  us  —  and  eh!  what  a  blank  she  has  left!  She  was 
long  our  chief  link  with  all  the  interest  of  the  outside 
world,  writing  almost  daily,  and  for  years  keeping  a  little 
slate  always  hanging  to  ner  davenport,  on  which,  as  each 
visitor  went  out,  she  noted  down,  from  their  conversation, 
anything  she  thought  my  mother  might  like  to  hear. 

"Five  weeks  ago  Arthur  went  to  join  the  Prince  of 
Wales  at  Alexandria.  He  was  very  unwilling  to  leave 
his  mother,  but  he  took  the  appointment  by  her  especial 
request,  and  she  was  delighted  with  it.  He  took  leave  of 
her  in  the  early  morning,  receiving  farewells  and  blessings 
as  she  lay  on  the  same  bed,  from  whence  she  was  unable 
afterwards  to  speak  one  word  to  her  other  children.  When 
he  went,  my  mother  was  very  ill  with  bronchitis.  Aunt 
Batty  also  caught  it,  but  wrote  frequently,  saying  that 
'  her  illness  did  not  signify,  she  was  only  anxious  about 
my  mother. '  It  did  signify,  however.  She  became  rapidly 
weaker.  Congestion  of  the  lungs  followed,  and  she  grad- 
ually sank.  The  Vaughans  wTere  sent  for,  and  Mary  was 
with  her.  We  were  ready  to  have  gone  at  any  moment, 
if  she  had  been  the  least  bit  better,  but  she  would  not 
have  been  able  to  have  spoken  to  the  mother,  perhaps  not 
have  known  her,  so  that  I  am  thankful  for  my  sweet 
mother's  sake  that  she  should  have  been  here  in  her  quiet 
peaceful  home. 

"There  were  none  of  the  ordinary  features  of  an  illness. 
Aunt  Kitty  suffered  do  pain  at  all:  it  was  a  mere  passing- 
out  of  one  gentle  sleep  into  another,  till  the  end. 


1861]  WORK   EN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  27 

"  Kate  wrote  — ■ '  What  a  solemn  hour  was  that  when 
we  were  sitting  in  silence  round  her  bed,  watching  the 
gradual  cessation  of  breathing  —  the  gradual  but  sure 
approach  of  the  end!  Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the  sad 
wailing  of  the  wind  as  her  soul  was  passing  away.  She 
lay  quite  still :  you  would  hardly  have  known  who  it  was, 
the  expression  was  so  changed  —  Oh  no,  you  would  never 
have  known  it  was  the  dear,  dear  face  we  had  loved  so 
fondly.  And  then,  when  all  ceased,  and  there  was  still- 
ness, and  we  thought  it  had  been  the  last  breath,  came  a 
deep  sigh,  then  a  pause  —  then  a  succession  of  deep  sighs 
at  long  intervals,  and  it  was  only  when  no  more  came  that 
we  knew  she  was  gone.  Charles  then  knelt  down  and 
prayed  for  us,  "  especially  for  our  dear  absent  brother,  that 
he  might  be  comforted  "  —  and  then  we  rose  up  and  took 
our  last  look  of  that  revered  countenance.' 

"When  people  are  dead,  how  they  are  glorified  in  one's 
mind !  I  was  almost  as  much  grieved  as  my  mother  her- 
self, and  I  also  felt  a  desolation.  Yet,  on  looking  back, 
how  few  words  of  tenderness  can  I  remember  receiving 
from  Aunt  Kitty  —  some  marigolds  picked  for  me  in  the 
palace  garden  when  I  was  ill  at  Norwich  —  a  few  acknowl- 
edgments of  my  later  devotion  to  my  mother  in  illness  — 
an  occasional  interest  in  my  drawing:  this  is  almost  all. 
What  really  makes  it  a  personal  sorrow  is,  that  in  the 
recollection  of  my  oppressed  and  desolate  boyhood,  the 
figure  of  Aunt  Kitty  always  looms  forth  as  that  of  Justice. 
She  was  invariably  just.  Whatever  others  might  say,  she 
never  allowed  herself  to  be  biassed  against  me,  or  indeed 
against  any  one  else,  contrary  to  her  own  convictions. 

"I  went  with  Mary  and  Kate  to  the  funeral  in  Alderley 
churchyard.  We  all  assembled  there  in  the  inner  school- 
room, close  to  the  Rectoiy,  which  had  been  the  home  of 
my  aunt's  happiest  days,  in  the  centre  of  which  lay  the 
coffin  covered  with  a  pall,  but  garlanded  with  long  green 
wreaths,  while  bunches  of  snowdrops  and  white  crocuses 


28 


THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1801 


fell  tenderly  over  the  sides.  '  I  know  thai  my  Redeemer 
liveth  '  was  sung  as  we  passed  out  of  the  church  to  the 
churchyard,  where  it  poured  with  rain.  The  crowds  of 
poor  people  present,  however,  liked  this,  for  k  blessed," 
they  said,  '  is  the  corpse  that  the  rain  falls  on.' ' 

During  this  sad  winter  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
us  to  have  our  faithful  old  friend  the  Baroness  von 
Bunsen  at  St.  Leonards,  with  two  of  her  daughters  — 


Al.DKRLEY    CHURCH    AND    RECTORY. 


Frances  and  Matilda.  She  had  been  near  my  mother 
at  the  time  of  her  greatest  sorrow  at  Rome,  and  her 
society  was  very  congenial  at  this  time.  We  were 
quite  hoping  that  she  would  have  made  St.  Leonards 
her  permanent  winter-home,  when  she  was  recalled  to 
live  in  Germany  by  the  death  of  the  darling  daughter 
of  her  heart —  Theodora  von  Ungern-Sternberg  — 
soon  after  giving  birth,  at  Carlsruhe,  to  her  fifth  child. 


1861]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  29 

In  this  winter  I  went  to  stay  at  Hnrstmonceaux 
Rectory  with  Dr.  Wellesley,  who  was  never  fitted  to 
be  a  country  clergyman,  but  who  never  failed  to  be 
the  most  agreeable  of  hosts  and  of  men.  In  person 
he  was  very  like  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  with  black 
eyes,  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  snow-white  hair.  His 
courtesy  and  kindness  were  unfailing,  especially  to 
women,  be  their  rank  what  it  might.  A  perfect 
linguist,  he  had  the  most  extraordinary  power  of  imi- 
tating Italians  in  their  own  peculiar  dialects.  Most 
diverting  was  his  account  of  a  sermon  which  he  heard 
preached  in  the  Coliseum.  I  can  only  give  the 
words  —  the  tone,  the  gestures  are  required  to  give  it 
life.  It  was  on  the  day  on  which  the  old  Duke  of 
Torlonia  died.  He  had  been  the  great  enemy  of  the 
monks  and  nuns,  and  of  course  they  hated  him.  On 
that  day,  being  a  Friday,  the  Confraternita  della 
Misericordia  met,  as  usual,  at  four  o'clock,  in  SS. 
Cosmo  and  Damiano  in  the  Forum,  and  went  chant- 
ing in  procession  to  the  Coliseum.  Those  who  re- 
member those  days  will  recall  in  imagination  the 
strong  nasal  twang  of  "  Sant'  Bartolome,  ora  pro 
nobis ;  Santa  Agata,  ora  pro  nobis ;  Sant'  Silvestro, 
ora  pro  nobis,"  &c.  Arrived  at  the  Coliseum,  the 
monk  ascended  the  pulpit,  and  began  in  the  familiar 
style  of  those  days,  in  which  sermons  were  usually 
opened  with  "  How  do  you  do  ?  "  and  some  remarks 
about  the  weather. 

"Buon  giorno,  cari  fratelli  raiei.  Buon  giorno,  care 
sorelle  —  come  state  tutti?  State  bene?  Oh,  mi  fa 
piacere,  mi  fa  molto  piacere!     Fa  bel  tempo  stasera,  non 


30  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [18C1 

h  vero?  un  tempo  piacevole  —  cielo  sereno.     Oh  ma  piace- 
vole  <li  molto! 

"Ebbene,  cari  fratelli  miei  —  ebbene,  care  sorelle  — 
sapete  eosa  c"  e  di  nuovo-  -sapete  clie  cos'  6  successo  stam- 
mattina  in  citta?  Non  lo  sapete  —  maraviglia!  Oh,  non 
\  i  dist inhale  —  no  —  no  —  no  —  non  vi  disturbate  aff'atto — 
ve  lo  dire.,  io  ve  lo  spiegherd  tutto. 

'•  Staniinattina  stessa  in  citta  e  morto  qualcheduno. 
Fu  un  uoiuo  — ■  nn  miiiio  ben  inteso  —  ma  che  specie 
d'uomo?  Fu  un  uomo  grande —  fu  un  iioino  ricco  —  fu 
un  uomo  potente  —  fu  un  uomo  grandissimo,  ricchissimo, 
potentissimo,  magnificentissimo,  ma  mori!  —  mori,  cari 
fratelli  miei,  quell'  uomo  cosi  grande,  cosi  ricco,  cosi 
potente  —  mori!  —  cosi  passiamo  tutti  —  cosi  linisce  il 
mondo  —  moriamo. 

"E  che  fu  quell'  uomo  cosi  importante  che  e  morto? 
Fu  un  Duca!  un  Duca,  cari  fratelli  miei!  E,  quando 
mori,  cosa  fece?  E  montato  sopra,  montato  sopra  su  alia 
porta  del  Paradiso,  clove  sta  San  Pietro,  colle  sue  sante 
chiavi.  Picchia  il  Duca.  .  .  .  '  Chi  e  la?"  disse  San  Pietro. 
'II  Duca  di  Torlonia! ' — 'Ah,  il  Duca  di  Torlonia,'  disse 
San  Pietro,  'quel  nonie  e  ben  conosciuto,  ben  conosciuto 
dawero.'  Quindi  si  volto  San  Pietro  all'  angelo  custode 
che  teneva  il  libro  della  vita,  e  disse,  'Angelo  mio,  cercate 
un  po' se  trovate  quel  norae  del  Duca  di  Torlonia.'  Dun- 
que  1'  angelo  cerco,  cercd  con  tanta  pena,  con  tanta  inquie- 
tudine,  volto  tante  pagine  in  quel  libro  cosi  grande  della 
vita,  ma  disse  infine,  '  Caro  Signor  San  Pietro  mio,  mi 
rincresce  tanto,  ma  quel  nome  li  non  mi  riesce  di  trovarlo.' 

"Allora  si  volto  San  Pietro,  e  disse,  '  Caro  Signor  Duca 
mio,  mi  rincresce  tanto,  ma  il  suo  nome  non  si  trova  nel 
libro  della  vita.'  Rise  il  Duca,  e  disse,  '  Ma  che  scioc- 
chezza!  cercate  poi  il  titolo  minore,  cercate  pure  il  titolo 
maggiore  della  famiglia,  cercate  il  Principe  di  Bracciano, 
e  lo  troverete  sicuramente. '  Dunque  1' angelo  cerco  di 
nuovo,  cerco  con  sollecitudine,  volto  tante  tante  pagine  in 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  31 

quel  libro  cosi  immenso  —  ma  alia  fine  disse,  '  Caro  Signor 
San  Pietro  mio,  rincresce  tanto  —  ma  quei  nomi  non  si 
trovan  qui,  ne  1'  uno,  ne  1'  altro. '  Allora  disse  San  Pietro, 
'  Mi  displace  tanto,  Signor  Duca  mio  —  ma  bisogna  scen- 
dere  piu  giu  —  bisogna  scendere  piu  giu. ' 

"  Scese  dunque  il  Duca  —  poco  contento  —  anzi  mortifi- 
cato  di  molto  —  scese  giu  alia  porta  del  Purgatorio.  Picchia 
il  Duca.  'Chi  e  la? '  disse  il  guardiano.  '  II  Duca  di  Tor- 
Ionia'  (piano).  '  Ah,  il  Duca  di  Torlonia,'  disse  il  guar- 
diano. k  Anche  qui,  quel  nome  e  ben  conosciuto,  molto' 
ben  conosciuto  —  ma  bisogna  scendere  piu  giu  —  bisogna 
scendere  piu  giu.' 

"  Scese  dunque  il  Duca.  Ahime !  quant'  era  miserabile ! 
come  gridava,  quanto  piangeva  ma  —  gridando,  piangendo 
—  scendeva  —  scendeva  giu  —  alia  porta  dell'  Inferno,  dove 
sta  il  Diavolo.  Picchia  il  Duca.  'Chi  e  la?  disse  il 
Diavolo.  '  II  Duca  di  Torlonia '  (pianissimo').  k  Ah,  il 
Duca  di  Torlonia,'  disse  il  Diavolo,  fc  oh  siete  il  benvenuto, 
entrate  qui,  caro  amico  mio,  oh  quanto  tempo  siete  aspet- 
tato,  entrate  qui,  e  restate  per  sempre. '  Ecco,  cari  fratelli 
miei,  ecco,  care  sorelle,  quel  ch'  e  successo  quest'  oggi, 
stammattina,  in  citta  a  quel  povero  Duca  di  Torloni-a!  "  &c. 

I  narrated  this  story  afterwards  to  Mrs.  F.  Daw- 
kins  and  her  daughters,  and  they  told  me  that  some 
friends  of  theirs  were  at  Rome  on  August  10,  St. 
Laurence's  Day  —  which  fell  on  a  Friday  that  }^ear  — 
and  St.  Laurence,  as  all  know,  was  roasted  on  a 
gridiron.     That  day,  the  monk  began  as  usual  — 

"  Buon  giorno,  cari  fratelli  miei  —  buon  giorno,  care 
sorelle  (sniff,  sniff,  sniff)  —  ma  sento  qualche  cosa  (sniff, 
sniff)  —  che  cosa  sento  io  (sniff)  —  sento  un  odore.  E 
1'  odore  di  che?  (sniff,  sniff,  sniff)  —  e  1' odore  di  came 
(sniff).     Che   specie  di  carne  pud  essere  ?     E  1'  odore  di 


32  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

came  bollito?  (sniff).  No,  no,  qo,  non  6  bollito  (sniff, 
snit't'.  suit'!').  Ah,  lo  vedo,  S  1'  odore  di  came  arrosto,  c 
1'  odore  di  carne  arrostito  —  e  1'  odore  d'  tin  santo  arrostdto 
—  e  l'odore  di  San  Lorenzo." 

Lady  Marian  Alford  used  to  tell  a  similar  story. 
Lord  Brownlow  was  at  S.  Agostino,  when  a  monk, 
who  was  walking  about,  preaching,  in  the  great  pul- 
pit there,  said,  "Che odore  sento  io?  E  l'odore  di 
niontone  '.'  —  no  !  E  1'  odore  di  presciutto  ?  —  no  ! 
E  1'  odore  delle  anime  che  friggono  nell'  inferno." 

I  cannot  remember  whether  it  was  in  this  or  the 
preceding  winter  that  I  spent  an  evening  with  Dr. 
Lushington,  the  famous  judge,  who,  having  been  born 
in  the  beginning  of  1782,  and  preserving  ever  green 
all  the  recollections  of  his  long  life,  was  one  of  the 
most  delightful  of  men.  I  remember  his  describing 
how  all  the  places  ending  in  s  in  England  take  their 
names  from  people  who  have  lived  there.  Leeds  is 
so  called  from  an  old  person  called  Leed  or  Lloyd,  of 
whom  the  great  city  is  now  the  only  memorial. 
Levens  is  from  Leofwin. 

He  said  that  "  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  never 
forgave  the  Court  of  Rome  for  not  canonising  her 
father."  She  always  regarded  Louis  XVI.  as  a  saint. 
Of  her  mother  she  spoke  with  less  confidence  — 
"  she  had  faults,"  she  said,  "  but  they  were  terribly 
expiated." 

Dr.  Lushington  said  that  when  he  was  a  very  little 
child  travelling  alone  witli  his  father,  the  carriage 
stopped  near  a  public-house,  and  the  footman  and 
coachman,  with  the  license  of  those  times,  went  in  to 
drink.     He  was  himself  asleep  in  the  corner  of  the 


1S62]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  33 

carriage,  when  a  pistol,  directed  at  his  father,  came 
crashing  in  at  the  window,  with,  a  demand  for  money. 
Dr.  Lushington  distinctly  remembered  his  father 
drawing  out  a  long  green  silk  purse,  in  which  were 
one  hundred  guineas,  and  deliberately  counting  out 
twelve  guineas  into  the  man's  hand,  and  saying, 
"  There,  take  that,  that  is  enough."  "  Well,"  said 
the  man,  "but  I  must  have  your  watch."  —  "No," 
said  his  father,  "  it  is  an  old  family  watch,  and  I  can- 
not give  it  to  you."  Upon  this  the  man  said,  "  Well, 
God  bless  you,"  and  went  away.  Immediately  after 
the  servants  came  out  of  the  inn,  and  hearing  what 
had  happened,  said  they  were  armed,  they  could  pur- 
sue the  highwayman,  and  they  could  easily  take  him. 
"  No,"  said  Dr.  Lushington's  father,  "  let  him  go. 
The  man  God-blessed  me,  and  I  '11  be  damned  if  I 
hang;  him" 

At  this  time  I  took  the  opportunity  of  persuading 
Dr.  Lnshington  to  tell  me  himself  the  most  celebrated 
of  his  stories,  which  I  had  already  heard  from  his  son 
Godfrey  and  from  Arthur  Stanley.  I  wrote  it  down 
at  the  time,  and  here  it  is,  in  the  very  words  of  the 
old  judge  :  — 

"There  was  once,  within  my  memory,  an  old  gentleman 
who  lived  in  Kent,  and  whose  name,  for  very  obvious 
reasons,  I  cannot  mention,  but  he  lived  in  Kent.  He  was 
a  very  remarkable  old  man,  and  chiefly  because  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  very,  very  long  life  —  for  he  was  ex- 
tremely old  —  he  had  never  been  known  on  any  single  occa- 
sion to  want  presence  of  mind ;  he  had  always  done  exactly 
the  right  thing,  and  he  had  always  said  exactly  the  right 
word,  at  exactly  the  right  moment.     The  old  gentleman 

VOL.  II. 3 


;J4  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

lived  alone  'That  is  to  say.  he  had  never  married,  and 
be  bad  no  brother  or  sister  or  other  relation  living  with 
him,  but  lie  bad  a  very  old  housekeeper,  a  verj  old  butler, 
a  very  old  efardener--in  fact,  all  the  old-fashioned  retinue 
of  a  \er\  old-fashioned  household,  and.  hound  together  by 
mutual  respect  and  affection,  the  household  was  a  very 
harmonious  one. 

"Now  I  must  describe  what  the  old  gentleman's  house 
was  like.  Upstairs,  there  was  a  very  long  passage,  which 
ended  in  a  blank  wall.  At  the  end  of  the  passage,  on  the 
left,  was  a  dressing-room,  and  on  the  right  was  a  bedroom, 
the  room  in  which  the  old  gentleman  himself  slept.  The 
bedroom  was  entered  by  a  very  heavy  swing-door,  which 
could  only  be  opened  from  the  inside  —  that  is  to  say,  the 
old  gentleman  carried  the  key  upon  his  watch-chain,  and 
let  himself  in  and  out.  When  he  wished  housemaids  or 
other  persons  to  go  in  or  out,  he  left  the  door  open;  but 
when  he  was  inside  and  shut  the  door,  no  one  could  come 
in  unless  he  opened  the  door  to  them.  People  may  say 
'  it  was  very  eccentric ; '  it  was  very  eccentric :  but  the  old 
gentleman  was  very  peculiar:  it  was  the  way  he  chose  to 
live:  at  any  rate,  it  was  a  fact.  Through  the  bedroom, 
opposite  the  door  into  the  passage,  was  another  door  which 
led  into  the  plate-room.  This  was  also  a  very  heavy 
swing-door,  which  could  only  be  opened  from  the  outside, 
and  very  often  in  summer  the  old  gentleman  would  set  it 
open  at  night,  because  he  thought  it  gave  more  air  to  the 
bedroom.  Everything  depends  upon  your  attending  to 
and  understanding  the  geography  of  these  rooms.  You 
see  they  were  all  en  suite  cross-wise.  If  you  stood  in  the 
plate-room,  and  all  the  doors  were  open,  you  would  see  the 
dressing-room,  and  vice  versdL. 

"One  morning  when  the  old  gentleman  came  do^vn  to 
breakfast,  he  found  upon  his  plate  a  note.  He  opened  it, 
and  it  contained  these  words  —  '  Beware,  you  are  in  the 
hands  of  thieves  and  robbers.'      He  was  very  much  sur- 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  35 

prised,  but  he  had  such  presence  of  mind  that  he  threw  the 
note  into  the  fire  and  went  on  buttering  his  toast,  having 
his  breakfast.  Inwardly  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out  upon  all 
that  was  going  on.  But  there  was  nothing  special  going 
on  whatever.  It  was  very  hot  summer  weather;  the  old 
gardener  was  mowing  the  lawn,  the  old  housekeeper 
cooked  the  dinner,  the  old  butler  brought  it  in :  no,  there 
was  nothing  whatever  especial  going  on. 

•'  That  night,  when  the  old  gentleman  went  to  bed,  he 
took  particular  care  to  examine  his  room,  and  to  see  that 
his  heavy  swing-door  was  well  fastened,  so  that  no  one 
could  come  in  to  disturb  him.  And  when  he  had  done 
this,  he  went  to  bed  and  fell  asleep,  and  slept  very  well 
till  the  next  morning,  for  nothing  happened,  nothing 
whatever. 

"  When  the  next  morning  came,  he  rang  his  bell  for  his 
hot  water  as  usual,  but  nobody  came.  He  rang,  and  rang, 
and  rang  again,  but  still  nobody  came.  At  last  he  opened 
his  bedroom  door,  and  went  out  down  the  passage  to  the 
head  of  the  staircase,  and  called  to  the  butler  over  the 
banisters.  The  butler  answered.  '  Why  did  you  not 
attend  to  my  bell  ?  '  said  the  old  gentleman.  '  Because  no 
bell  rang,'  answered  the  butler.  'Oh,  but  I  have  rung 
very  often, '  said  the  old  gentleman ;  '  go  downstairs  again, 
and  I  will  pull  the  bell  again;  watch  if  it  rings.'  So  the 
butler  went  downstairs,  and  the  old  man  pulled  the  bell, 
but  no  bell  rang.  '  Then,'  said  the  old  gentleman,  '  you 
must  send  for  the  bell-hanger  at  once ;  one  cannot  live 
with  broken  bells ;  that  sort  of  thing  cannot  be  allowed  to 
go  on  in  the  house, '  —  and  he  dressed  and  went  down  to 
breakfast. 

'While  he  was  eating  his  breakfast,  the  old  gentleman 
found  he  had  forgotten  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  went 
up  to  his  room  to  get  it.  And  such  was  the  promptitude 
of  that  old-fashioned  household,  that  the  village  being 
close  to  the  house,  and  the  bell-hanger  living  in  the  vil- 


3G  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

lage,  the  master's  orders  had  already  been  obeyed,  and  the 
bell-hanger  was  already  in  the  room,  standing  on  a  ladder, 
arranging  the  new  wire  of  the  bell.  In  old-fashioned 
houses,  you  know,  the  bell  wires  come  through  the  wall 
and  go  round  the  top  of  the  room,  so  that  you  can  see 
them,  and  so  it  was  in  this  house  in  Kent.  You  do  not 
generally  perhaps  observe  how  many  wires  there  are  in 
your  room,  but  it  so  happened  that,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  the 
old  gentleman  had  observed  those  in  his,  and  there  were 
three  wires.  Now  he  looked,  and  there  were  four  wires. 
Yes,  there  was  no  doubt  there  were  four  wires  going  round 
his  room.  '  Now,''  he  said,  '  novj  I  know  exactly  what  is 
going  to  happen,'  but  he  gave  no  outward  sign  of  having 
discovered  anything,  and  he  went  down  and  finished  his 
breakfast. 

"All  that  day  everything  went  on  as  usual.  It  was  a 
dreadfully  hot  day  in  July  —  very  sultry  indeed.  The  old 
gentleman  was  subject  to  bad  nervous  headaches,  and  in 
the  afternoon  he  pretended  to  be  not  quite  so  well.  When 
dinner-time  came,  he  was  very  suffering  indeed.  He 
spoke  of  it  to  the  butler.  He  said,  '  It  is  only  one  of  my 
usual  attacks;  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  the  weather.  I  shall 
be  better  to-morrow;  but  I  will  go  to  bed  early.'  And 
towards  half-past  nine  he  went  upstairs.  He  left  the  door 
of  the  bedroom  ajar,  so  that  any  one  could  come  in;  he  set 
the  door  of  the  plate-room  wide  open,  for  the  sake  of 
more  air  to  the  bedroom,  and  he  went  to  bed.  When  he 
was  in  bed,  he  rang  the  bell,  the  new  bell  that  the  bell- 
hanger  had  put  up  that  morning.  The  butler  came.  The 
old  gentleman  gave  some  orders  about  horses  for  the  next 
day,  and  then  said,  '  Do  not  disturb  me  in  the  morning. 
I  had  better  sleep  off  my  headache;  I  will  ring  when  I 
want  to  get  up.  You  can  draw  the  curtains  round  the 
bed,  and  then  shut  the  door.'  So  the  butler  drew  the 
curtains  round  the  bed,  and  went  out,  shutting  the  door 
after  him. 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  37 

"As  soon  as  the  old  gentleman  heard  the  footsteps  of 
the  butler  die  away  down  the  passage,  he  dressed  himself 
completely  from  head  to  foot;  he  took  two  loaded  pistols 
and  a  blunderbuss.  He  stealthily  opened  the  heavy  swing- 
door  of  the  bedroom.  He  let  himself  out  into  the  dark 
passage.  He  shut  to  the  bedroom  door  behind  him.  It 
fastened  with  a  click ;  he  could  not  go  in  himself  any  more, 
and  he  crossed  the  passage,  and  stood  in  the  dark  dressing- 
room  with  the  door  open. 

"It  was  still  very  early,  and  eleven  o'clock  came,  and 
nothing  happened;  and  twelve  came  and  nothing  hap- 
pened; and  one  o'clock  came  and  nothing  happened.  And 
the  old  gentleman  —  for  he  was  already  very  old  —  began 
to  feel  very  much  exhausted,  and  he  began  to  say  to  him- 
self, '  Perhaps  after  all  I  was  wrong !  Perhaps  after  all  it 
is  a  hallucination;  but  I  will  wait  till  two  o'clock.' 

"At  half-past  one  o'clock  there  was  a  sound  of  stealthy 
footsteps  down  the  passage,  and  three  figures  passed  in 
front- of  him  and  stood  opposite  the  bedroom  door.  They 
were  so  near  that  he  could  have  shot  them  every  one; 
but  he  said  to  himself,  '  No,  I  '11  wait,  I  '11  wait  and  see 
what  is  going  to' happen. '  And  as  he  waited,  the  light 
from  the  dark  lantern  which  the  first  man  carried  fell  upon 
their  faces,  and  he  recognised  them.  And  the  first  figure 
was  the  butler,  and  the  second  figure  was  the  bell-hanger, 
and  the  third  figure,  from  having  been  long  a  magistrate 
on  a  London  bench,  he  recognized  as  the  most  notorious 
ruffian  of  a  well-known  London  gang.  He  heard  the 
ruffian  say  to  the  butler,  '  I  say,  it 's  no  use  mincing  this 
kind  of  thing:  no  use  doing  this  kind  of  thing  by  halves: 
better  put  him  out  of  the  way  at  once,  and  go  on  to  the 
plate  afterwards. '  — '  Oh  no, '  said  the  butler,  '  he  has  been 
a  good  master  to  me;  I  '11  never  consent  to  that.  Take 
all  he  has;  he  "11  never  wake,  not  he;  but  you  can't  do 
him  any  harm;  I'll  never  consent  to  that.'  And  they 
wrangled  about  it  for  some  time,  but  at  last  the  butler 


38  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

seemed  to  get  the  better,  and  the  ruffian  had  to  consent  to 
his  terms. 

"Then  exactly  what  the  old  gentleman  had  expected 
happened.  The  butler,  standing  on  tiptoe,  could  just 
reach  the  four  wires  of  the  bells,  which  came  through  into 
the  low  passage  above  the  bedroom  door.  As  the  butler 
reached  the  lowest  of  the  wires,  and  by  leaning  his  weight 
upon  it.  pulled  it  downwards,  it  was  seen  that  the  wire 
was  connected  with  the  bolt  of  the  door  on  the  inside;  the 
bolt  rolled  up,  and  the  heavy  swing-door  of  the  bedroom, 
of  which  the  hinges  were  well  oiled  for  the  occasion,  rolled 
open.  "  There,'  said  the  butler,  as  they  passed  into  the 
room,  "  master  always  sleeps  like  that.  Curtains  drawn 
all  round  the  bed.  He  '11  not  hear  anything,  not  he.' 
And  they  all  passed  in  through  the  open  door  of  the  plate- 
room.  The  old  man  waited  till  they  were  entirely  occu- 
pied with  the  plate-chest,  and  then  he  slipped  off*  his 
slippers,  and,  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  a  jump,  he  darted 
across  the  room,  and  —  bang!  they  were  all  caught  in  a 
trap.  He  banged  to  the  heavy  swing-door  of  the  plate- 
room,  which  could  only  be  opened  from  the  outside. 

"  Having  done  that  —  people  may  believe  it  or  not,  but 
I  maintain  that  it  is  true  —  the  old  man  had  such  presence 
of  mind,  that  he  undressed,  went  to  bed,  and  slept  soundly 
till  the  next  morning.  Even  if  this  were  not  so,  till  the 
next  morning  he  did  not  send  for  the  police,  and  the  con- 
sequence was  that  when  he  did  send  for  the  police,  and 
the  door  was  opened,  the  following  horrible  scene  revealed 
itself:  The  ruffian  had  tried  to  make  a  way  of  escape 
through  the  roof,  had  stuck  fast,  and  was  dreadfully 
mangled  in  the  attempt:  the  bell-hanger  had  hung  himself 
from  the  ceiling:  and  the  butler  was  a  drivelling  idiot  in  the 
corner,  from  the  honor  of  the  night  he  had  gone  through." 

Dr.  Lushington  bad  been  employed  in  the  inquiry 
which  ensued,  and  had  personal  knowledge  of  all  lie 


1862]  WORK   IX   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  39 

narrated.     I  must  record  one  more  story  which  he 
told  me  —  in  his  words  :  — 

"  I  had  a  great-uncle,  and  as  I  am  a  very  old  man,  yon 
may  imagine  that  my  great-uncle  was  alive  a  very  long 
time  ago.  He  was  a  very  eccentric  man,  and  his  peculiar 
hobhy  when  in  London  was  to  go  about  to  dine  at  all  soils 
of  odd  places  of  entertainment,  to  amuse  himself  with  the 
odd  characters  he  fell  in  with.  One  day  he  was  dining  at 
a  tavern  near  St.  Bride's  in  Fleet  Street,  and  at  the  table 
opposite  to  him  sat  a  man  who  interested  him  exceedingly, 
who  was  unusually  amusing,  and  quaint,  and  agreeable. 
At  the  end  of  dinner  the  stranger  said,  '  Perhaps,  sir,  you 
are  not  aware  that  you  have  been  dining  with  a  notorious 
highwayman  ?  '  — '  No,  indeed, '  said  my  great-uncle,  not 
the  least  discomposed.  '  What  an  unexpected  pleasure! 
But  I  am  quite  sure,  sir,  that  you  cannot  always  have 
been  a  highwayman,  and  that  your  story  must  be  a  very 
remarkable  one.  Can  I  not  persuade  you  to  do  me  the 
honour  of  telling  it  to  me  ?  '  — '  Well, '  said  the  stranger, 
'  we  have  had  a  very  pleasant  dinner,  and  I  like  }-our 
acquaintance,  and  I  don't  mind  if  I  do  tell  you  my  story. 
You  are  quite  right  in  thinking  that  I  was  in  early  life  as 
free  as  you  are,  or  indeed,  for  that  matter,  as  I  myself  am 
now.  But  one  day,  as  I  was  riding  over  Hounslow  Heath, 
I  was  surrounded  by  highwaymen.  They  dragged  me 
from  my  horse,  and  then  said,  "We  don't  want  your 
money,  and  we  don't  want  your  life,  but  we  want  you, 
and  you  we  must  have.  A  great  many  of  us  have  been 
taken,  and  we  want  recruits;  you  must  go  with  us."  I 
protested  in  vain;  I  said  it  was  impossible  I  could  go  with 
them ;  I  was  a  respectable  member  of  society,  it  was  quite 
impossible  that  I  could  become  a  highwayman.  'Then," 
they  said,  "you  must  die;  you  cannot  be  allowed  to  live, 
to  go  out  into  the  world,  and  tell  what  has  been  proposed 
to  you."     I  was  in  a  terrible  strait,  and  eventually  I  was 


40  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1SG2 

obliged  to  promise  to  go  with  them.  I  was  obliged  to 
promise,  but  I  made  such  difficulties  that  I  was  able  to 
exact  two  conditions.  One  was  that  at  the  end  of  seven 
years  I  should  be  allowed  to  go  free,  and  that  I  should 
never  be  recognised  or  taken  by  them  again.  The  other 
was  that  in  the  seven  years  I  was  with  them,  no  deed  of 
actual  cruelty  should  ever  be  committed  in  my  presence. 

""So  1  rode  with  the  highwaymen,  and  many  strange 
things  happened.  I  saw  many  people  robbed  and  pillaged, 
and  I  helped  to  rob  and  pillage  them,  but  no  deed  of 
actual  cruelty  was  ever  committed  in  my  presence.  One 
day,  after  I  had  been  with  the  band  four  years,  we  were 
ritling  in  Windsor  Forest.  I  saw  a  carriage  approaching 
down  the  longr  avenue.  It  was  sure  to  have  ladies  in  it; 
there  was  likely  to  be  a  disagreeable  scene;  it  was  not 
necessary  that  I  should  be  present,  so  I  lingered  behind  in 
the  forest.  Presently,  however,  I  was  roused  by  so  dread- 
ful a  scream  from  the  carriage  that  I  could  no  longer  resist 
riding  forward,  and  I  spurred  on  my  horse.  In  the  car- 
riage sat  a  lady,  magnificently  dressed,  evidently  just 
come  from  Windsor  Castle,  and  the  highwaymen  had  torn 
the  bracelets  from  her  arms  and  the  necklace  from  her 
neck,  and  were  just  about  to  cut  off  her  little  finger, 
because  there  was  a  very  valuable  diamond  ring  upon  it, 
which  they  could  not  otherwise  get  off.  The  lady  implored 
me  to  have  pity  upon  her,  to  intercede  for  her,  and  I  did. 
I  represented  that  the  highwaymen  had  made  me  a  solemn 
promise  that  no  deed  of  personal  cruelty  should  ever  be 
committed  in  my  presence,  that  on  that  condition  only  I 
was  with  them,  and  I  called  upon  them  to  keep  their 
promise.  They  disputed  and  were  very  angry,  but  even- 
tually they  gave  in,  and  rode  off  with  the  rest  of  their 
booty,  leaving  me  alone  with  the  lady. 

"'  The  lady  then  said  she  owed  me  everything.  She 
certainly  owed  me  her  life  for  she  was  quite  sure  that  she 
should  never,  never,  have  survived  the  loss  of  her  little 


1862]  WORK   IN  NORTHERN  COUNTIES  41 

finger.  She  was  quite  sure,  she  said,  that  I  could  not  like 
being  a  highwayman,  and  she  entreated  me  to  abandon  the 
road  and  reform  my  life.  "I  can  get  you  a  pardon,"  she 
said,  "  I  can  set  you  up  in  life  —  in  fact,  I  can  do  any- 
thing for  you."  Then  I  told  her  my  story.  I  told  her 
how  the  highwaymen  had  made  a  promise  to  me,  and  they 
had  kept  it;  and  I  told  her  how  I  had  made  a  promise  to 
them,  and  I  must  keep  it  also.  I  had  promised  to  go  with 
them  for  seven  years,  and  I  had  only  been  with  them  four; 
I  must  go  with  them  for  three  years  more.  "Then,"  said 
the  lady,  "  I  know  what  will  happen ;  I  know  what  stringent 
measures  are  going  to  be  enforced  for  the  suppression  of 
highwaymen.  I  am  certain  you  cannot  escape  for  three 
years :  you  will  be  taken,  and  you  will  be  condemned  to 
death.  When  this  happens,  send  for  me,  and  I  will  save 
your  life.     I  am  Mrs.  Masham." 

" '  It  was  indeed  Mrs.  Masham,  the  great  favourite  of 
Queen  Anne. 

" '  Before  the  expiration  of  the  three  years  I  was  taken, 
I  was  tried,  and  I  was  condemned  to  death.  While  I  was 
lying  in  Newgate  under  sentence  of  death,  I  sent  to  Mrs. 
Masham,  and  Mrs.  Masham  flung  herself  at  the  feet  of 
Queen  Anne,  and  the  Queen  spared  my  life.' 


This  was  the  story  of  Dr.  Lushington's  great-uncle's 
friend. 

In  April  I  returned  to  my  work  in  the  North. 
My  first  visit  worth  recording  was  one  to  the  old 
house  of  Mainsforth  in  Durham,  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Snrtees,  widow  of  the  genial  and  delightful  historian. 
who  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
though  he  offended  him  when  it  was  discovered  thai 
he  had  himself  written  the  glorious  ballads  which  he 


42  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

had  imposed  upon  Sir  Walter  as  originals.1  He  was 
also  the  author  of  many  ballads  of  a  simpler  and  more 
touching  character,  which  have  never  attained  to 
the  position  in  English  poetry  which  they  surely 
deserve. 

To  my  Mother. 

"Mainsforth,  April  26,  1862.  This  has  been  a  most 
interesting  visit,  both  the  old  ladies  of  the  house  so  amus- 
ing, and  so  full  of  stories  of  the  past,  in  which  they  are 
still  living,  having  shut  out  the  present  ever  since  the 
death  of  Mr.  Surtees,  twenty  years  ago.  Miss  Robinson 
has  lived  with '  my  Sister  Surtees  '  for  the  last  fifteen  years, 
and  thinks  there  is  no  place  in  the  world  like  Mainsf  orth : 
and  indeed  it  is  a  most  pleasant  old  house,  thoroughly 
unpretending,  but  roomy  and  comfortable,  close  to  the 
road  on  one  side,  but  a  very  quiet  road,  with  a  fringe  of 
ancient  trees  and  a  rookery,  and  on  the  other  looking  out 
on  the  wide  green  lawn  and  broad  terrace-walk,  bordered 
by  clumps  of  hyacinths  and  tall  turncap  lilies.  My  room 
has  two  low  windows,  which  slide  back  like  doors,  and 
look  down  through  glades  of  hollies,  like  a  picture,  to  the 
silvery  windings  of  the  Skene.  It  is  quiet,  and  stillness 
itself;  no  sound  but  the  cawing  of  the  rooks,  and  the 
ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  broad  old  staircase. 

"  Ever  since  an  accident  five  years  ago,  '  my  Sister 
Surtees  '  has  sat  on  a  sofa  in  a  sitting-room  covered  with 
tine  old  prints  pasted  on  the  walls,  with  a  large  tapestry 
screen  on  one  side  of  her,  and  during  the  three  days  I  have 
been  here,  I  have  never  seen  her  move  from  this  place,  to 
which  she  appears  to  be  glued.  '  My  Sister  Mary'  does 
all  the   hospitalities  of  the  house,  in  the  heartiest,  most 

1  Xotably  the  ballad  of  "  Featherstniiliaugli,"  whicli  Sir  Walter  in- 
serted as  ancient  in  his  "  Border  Minstrelsy,"  introducing  one  stanza 
in  the  poem  of  "  Marmion  "  itself. 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  43 

cordial  way,  and  both  always  keep  open  house  at  Mains- 
forth  for  every  one  who  likes  to  come.  University  students 
from  Durham  are  constantly  here,  and  the  house  is  a 
second  home  to  all  the  poor  clergy  of  the  neighbourhood, 
who  come  whenever  they  want  a  good  dinner,  or  ready 
interest  and  kindly  sympathy.  A  new  curate  was  appointed 
to  the  neighbouring  church  of  Bishop  Middleham,  and  was 
asked  to  stay  here  while  he  looked  out  for  lodgings :  he 
stayed  on  and  on,  till  he  never  went  away  again :  he  stayed 
here  three  years!  The  students  of  Durham  University 
have  just  put  up  two  stained  glass  windows  in  the  church 
here,  in  token  of  gratitude  for  the  kindness  they  have 
received  at  Mainsforth.  Imagine  the  students  of  Oxford 
doing  such  a  thing! 

"  On  Thursday  I  went  by  the  early  train  to  Darlington, 
and,  after  seeing  the  town,  set  off  in  a  gig  on  a  long  round 
of  country  villages.  I  saw  the  '  Hell  Kettles,'  three  pools 
which  are  supposed  to  be  fathomless,  and  into  which,  if  a 
sheep  falls,  it  is  believed  to  be  always  '  a-going  '  to  the  end 
of  all  time :  and  at  one  o'clock  came  to  Sockburne,  a  lovely 
peninsula  on  the  Tees,  where  an  old  ruined  chapel  stands 
on  the  edge  of  the  green  lawn  above  the  rushing  river,  and 
beside  it  '  the  Wishing-Tree, '  a  chestnut  1100  years  old, 
where  everything  wished  for  comes  true.  I  had  an  intro- 
duction to  Mrs.  Blackett,  the  owner,  who  lives  in  a  beau- 
tiful modern  house  with  terraces  above  the  river,  and 
when  I  was  shown  in,  I  found  with  her,  in  three  young 
ladies  spinning,  three  friends  of  last  year,  daughters  of 
Sir  Edward  Blackett  of  Matfen.  After  luncheon,  though 
it  rained,  they  all  walked  with  me  three  miles  along  the 
lovely  hanging  woods  by  the  Tees  to  '  the  Leper's  Bath. ' 

"  Yesterday  I  went  off  again,  before  the  family  break- 
fast, to  Stockton-on-Tees  a  manufacturing  town,  celebrated 
for  possessing  the  widest  street  in  England.  I  dined  at 
Greatham  Hospital  with  Mr.  Tristram,  the  Master.  It 
seemed  a  most  melancholy  place  morally,  no  one  speaking 


44  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

to  anybody  else,  everyone  quarrelling  about  their  rights 
of  way,  the  keys  of  their  church,  even  about  their  interest 
in  the  poor  old  men  of  the  Hospital.  The  country  is  now- 
all  blackened  with  coal-pits,  and  it  is  curious  to  hear  my 
present  hostesses  describe  it  all  trees  and  verdure,  as  it 
was  in  their  youth.  But  the  natives  are  still  wonderfully 
simple  and  full  of  kind-heartedness.  At  Billingham  a 
poor  woman  having-  spent  half-an-hour  in  trying  to  find 
the  keys  of  the  church  lor  me,  said,  when  1  begged  her  to 
give  it  up,  '  Na,  na,  I  '11  try  once  again,  if  only  to  show  a 
willin'.'" 

Journal. 

"Mainsforth,  April  24,  1862.  Sitting  alone  with  Miss 
Ilobinson  just  now,  she  talked  much  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

"'  I  knew  Sir  Walter  Scott  very  well:  to  hear  him  talk 
was  like  hearing  history  with  all  the  disagreeable  parts 
weeded  out.  I  often  dined  with  him  in  Edinburgh.  I 
went  with  my  Sister  Surtees  to  his  house  just  after  his  first 
paralytic  seizure.  We  went  to  take  him  a  book,  and,  not 
knowing  of  his  illness,  my  Sister  Surtees  asked  if  he  was 
at  home.  The  servant  said  he  did  not  know;  so  my  sister 
told  him  just  to  give  Sir  Walter  the  book  and  say  it  was 
left  by  Mrs.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth.  But  Sir  Walter,  wrho 
was  sitting  in  his  study,  heard  my  sister's  voice,  and  said, 
"I  am  sure  that  is  Mrs.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth,"  and  sent 
to  desire  us  to  come  in.  We  found  him  dreadfully  altered, 
and  he  described  to  us  all  that  had  happened.  "I  was 
sitting  with  Sophy,  when  I  was  taken."  he  said  (she  is 
dead  — they  are  all  dead  now),  "and  I  could  not  speak; 
so  I  ran  upstairs  into  the  drawing-room,  where  there  were 
several  ladies  in  the  room,  and  there  I  soon  became  insen- 
sible and  could  not  be  roused.  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were 
to-day."  he  said;  "they  all  began  to  beel,  and  they  made 
such  a  tiran,  you  can  scarcely  imagine  it.  I  did  not  wish 
to  frighten  them  more,  so  I  did  not  say  what  I  felt,  but 


1862]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  45 

I  '11  tell  you  what  it  was,  Mrs.  Surtees  —  I  shook  hands 
with  death." 

" '  Lady  Scott  was  brought  up  in  France.  She  was  a 
very  frivolous  person  —  very  exceedingly.  The  first  time 
I  dined  with  them,  I  sat  next  to  her,  and  she  wore  a  bro- 
caded silk  gown  which  she  told  me  cost  two  hundred 
guineas.  "Dear  me,  Lady  Scott,"  I  said,  "but  is  not  that 
a  very  large  price?"  —  "Yes,"  she  replied,  "but  that's 
what  my  dressmaker  charges  me."  People  never  knew 
what  present  to  give  to  Sir  Walter ;  so,  when  they  wished 
to  make  a  present,  they  gave  ornaments  to  Lady  Scott, 
and  she  would  come  down  to  a  common  dinner  with  her 
arm  quite  covered  with  bracelets.  What  more  she  could 
have  worn  if  she  went  to  court,  I  cannot  imagine.  She 
never  entered  into  Sir  Walter's  pursuits  at  all. 

"w  Donald  was  the  old  piper,  and  a  very  fine-looking 
person  he  was.  He  used  to  walk  about  the  gallery  out- 
side playing  the  pibroch  on  the  bagpipes.  He  could  not 
have  done  it  in  the  room,  it  was  so  deafening.  Even  from 
outside,  the  noise  was  tremendous,  but  Sir  Walter  liked  it 
because  it  was  national. '  " 

''''April  25.  I  have  had  a  long  talk  with  Mrs.  Surtees. 
I  wish  I  could  put  down  half  she  said  about  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd. 

" '  Once  we  wanted  to  go  to  the  Highlands.  There  were 
my  sister  and  two  other  ladies :  we  were  a  party  of  four. 
Surtees  would  not  go  with  us  because  he  said  we  should 
be  such  a  trouble  to  him;  but  he  said,  "What  I  advise 
you  to  do  is,  to  go  to  Mr.  Blackwood  when  you  get  to 
Edinburgh,  and  ask  him  to  give  you  a  tour."  So  when 
we  got  to  Edinburgh,  we  went  to  Mr.  Blackwood,  and 
told  him  what  Surtees  said.  "Oh  dear,  Mrs.  Surtees," 
said  Mr.  Blackwood,  "what  a  pity  you  were  not  here  a 
minute  ago,  for  Mr.  Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  has  only 
just  gone   out  of  the  shop,  and  he  would  have  been  the 


46  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

very  person  to  have  told  you  all  you  wanted  to  know." 
Now  you  must  know  that  Surtees  had  been  very  kind  to 
Hogg,  and  I  was  very  anxious  to  see  him,  so  I  said,  "Oh 
dear,  but  can  we  not  still  see  him?  "  —  "  Well,"  said  Mr. 
Blackwood,  "he  is  going  out  of  town  now,  but  he  will  be 
back  in  a  short  time,  and  if  you  like  to  leave  your  address, 
he  will  come  and  call  upon  you."  So  1  was  just  going 
to  write  my  name  on  a  card,  when  who  should  come  in 
again  but  the  Ettrick  Shepherd.  "Oh,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Blackwood,  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  back,  for  this  is 
Mis.  Surtees,  and  she  wants  you  to  give  her  a  tour  in  the 
Highlands.*'  —  "Eh!"  said  the  Shepherd,  "coom  awa 
then  wi'  me  into  th'  backshop,  and  I  '11  do  "t." 

"'  So  we  went  into  the  backshop,  and  he  told  me  where 
to  go,  and  showed  me  all  the  route  on  a  large  map  that 
was  there ;  and  when  he  had  done  he  said,  "  Weel,  Mrs. 
Surtees,  an'  noo  I  've  shown  ye  the  route,  I  'd  jist  like  to 
go  wi'  ye."  —  "Well,"  I  said,  "Mr.  Hogg,  we  are  only 
four  ladies,  but  we  would  do  all  we  could  to  make  it 
agreeable  to  you,  if  you  liked  to  go."  —  "Eh, "said  the 
Shepherd,  "but  I  could'na  just  leave  the  lammies." 

"cSo  then  he  said,  "Eh,  Mrs.  Surtees,  but  my  wife's 
here,  and  I  'm  just  a  going  to  choose  her  a  silk  gown:  will 
ye  coom  awa  along  wi'  us  an'  help  to  choose  it?';  So  I 
went  with  them  (a  very  nice-looking  woman  too  Mrs. 
Hogg  was)  and  helped  to  choose  the  gown. 

"'  Once  I  met  them  at  dinner  at  Sir  Walter's.  Sir 
Walter  treated  Mrs.  Hogg  very  well,  and  thought  her 
(as  the  poet's  wife,  you  know)  every  bit  as  good  as  Lady 
Scott;  but  Lady  Scott  thought  her  very  different,  and  she 
did  not  carry  it  off  very  well. 

"'We  were  at  Abbotsford  when  Washington  Irving 
was  there.  When  people  went  awa}',  Sir  Walter  used  to 
conduct  all  those  he  especially  liked  over  the  hill  as  far  as 
a  particular  little  wicket.  When  Mr.  Irving  went,  he 
said,  "Now  I  '11  take  you  as  far  as  the  wicket."     I  walked 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  47 

with  them,  and  when  they  parted,  I  so  well  remember 
Mr.  Irving  saying  what  a  pleasant  visit  he  had  had,  and 
all  that  kind  of  thing  —  and  then  Sir  Walter's  hearty, 
earnest  "Coom  again."  ' 

"  Mrs.  Surtees  had  also  much  to  say  of  Mrs.  Siddons. 

" '  I  used  often  to  meet  Mrs.  Siddons  at  the  house  of 
the  Barringtons  when  they  lived  at  Sedgefield.  She  was 
always  acting.  I  remember  as  if  it  were  yesterdaj^  her 
sitting  by  me  at  dinner  and  asking  George  Barrington  how 
Chinamen  eat  their  rice  with  chopsticks.  ""Well,  but  I 
pray  you,  and  how  do  they  do  it?  "  she  said  in  a  theatrical 
tone;  and  then,  turning  to  the  footman,  she  said,  "Give 
me  a  glass  of  water,  I  pray  you;  I  am  athirst  to-day." 
After  dinner,  Lord  Barrington  would  say,  "  Well  now, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  will  you  give  us  some  reading?  " 

" '  Her  daughter  was  with  her,  who  was  miserably  ill- 
educated.  She  could  not  even  sew.  The  Miss  Barringtons 
took  her  in  hand  and  tried  to  teach  her,  but  they  could 
make  nothing  of  her.'  " 

"April  26.  Miss  Robinson  has  been  telling  me,  '  When 
we  were  in  London,  we  went  to  a  chapel  in  Bedford  Place 
where  Sydney  Smith  often  used  to  preach,  and  we  were 
shown  into  a  pew;  for,  you  know,  in  London  you  do  not 
sit  where  you  like,  but  they  show  you  into  pews  —  the 
women  people  that  keep  the  church  do.  There  was  a 
strange  lady  in  the  seat,  and  I  have  never  seen  her  before 
or  since.  It  was  not  I  that  sat  next  to  her —  my  Sister 
Snrtees  was  the  person.  The  service  was  got  through  very 
well,  and  when  the  preacher  got  up,  it  was  Sydney  Smith. 
I  remember  the  sermon  as  if  it  were  to-day.  It  was  from 
the  106th  Psalm.  He  described  the  end  of  man  —  the 
"portals  of  mortality."  "Over  those  portals,"  he  said, 
"are  written  Death!  Plague!  Famine!  Pestilence!"  &c, 
and  he  was  most  violent.  I  am  sure  the  poor  man  that 
had  read  the  service  and  was  sitting  underneath   would 


48  THE  STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

rather  have  been  at  the  portals  of  mortality  than  where  he 
was  just  then,  for  Sydney  Smith  thumped  the  cushion  till 
it  almost  touched  his  head,  and  he  must  have  thought  the 
whole  thin^  was  coming  down  upon  him.  The  lady  in 
the  pew  was  quite  frightened,  and  she  whispered  to  my 
Sister  Surtees,  "This  is  Sir  Sydney  Smith,  who  has  been 
so  Long  in  the  wars,  and  that  is  what  makes  him  so  vio- 
lent.''—  "Oh  dear,  no,"  said  my  Sister  Surtees,  "you  are 
under  a  great  mistake,''  '  &c. 

"Miss  Kobinson  described  her  youth  at  Houghton-le- 
Spring,  now  almost  the  blackest  place  in  Durham. 

'• '  Houghton-le-Spring  was  a  lovely  rustic  village.  There 
was  not  a  pit  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  neighbourhood 
was  the  best  that  was  known  in  England.  Sixteen  or 
seventeen  carriages  waited  at  the  church-gate  every  Sun- 
day. My  father  lived  at  Herrington  Hall,  and  our  family 
were  buried  in  Bernard  Gilpin's  tomb,  because  they  were 
related. 

"'  The  Lyons1  of  Hetton  were  a  beautiful  family,  but 
Mrs.  Fellowes  was  the  loveliest.  Jane  and  Elizabeth  died 
each  of  a  rapid  decline.  Mrs.  Lyon  embarked  £00,000 
in  the  pit  at  Hetton,  lost  it,  and  died  of  a  broken  heart. 
People  used  to  say,  "Do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Lyon's 
heart  is?     At  the  bottom  of  Hetton  coal-pit." 

After  a  visit  to  the  George  Liddells  at  Durham,  I 
went  on  to  Northumberland. 

To  my  Mother. 

"  Westgate  Street,  Newcastle,  Mat/  6,  1862.  Yesterday 
afternoon  I  came  here,  to  the  old  square  dark  red  brick 
house  of  the  Claytons,  who  are  like   merchant-princes  in 

1  My  great-^Tcat-uncle,  Thomas  Lyon  of  Hetton,  younger  brother 
of  tin-  lull  Ear!  of  Strathmore,  married  Miss  Wren  (grand-daughter  of 
Sir  Christopher),  heiress  of  Binchester. 


1862]  WORK   IX  NORTHERN   COUNTIES  49 

Newcastle,  so  enormous  is  their  wealth,  but  who  still  live 
in  the  utmost  simplicity  in  the  old-fashioned  family  house 
in  this  retired  shady  street.  The  family  are  all  remark- 
able. First  comes  Mr.  John  Clayton  of  Chesters,  the  well- 
known  antiquary  of  North  Tyne,  a  grand,  sturdy  old  man, 
with  a  head  which  might  be  studied  for  a  bust  of  Jupiter; : 
then  there  is  his  brother  Matthew,  a  thin  tall  lawyer,  full 
of  jokes  and  queer  sayings ;  then  the  venerable  and  beauti- 
ful old  sister,  Mrs.  Anne  Clayton  (beloved  far  and  wide 
by  the  poor,  amongst  whom  she  spends  her  days,  and  who 
are  all  devoted  to  'Mrs.  Nancy  Claytoun '),  is  the  gentlest 
and  kindest  of  old  ladies.  And  besides  these,  there  is  the 
nephew,  George  Nathaniel,  a  college  friend  of  mine,  and 
his  wife,  Isabel  Ogle,  whom  we  have  often  met  abroad. 

"  Last  night,  Dr.  Bruce 2  dined,  the  leader  of  the 
*  Romanist '  antiquarians  in  the  county,  in  opposition  to 
Dr.  Charlton  and  the  '  Medievalists.'  " 

"May  7.  How  amused  my  mother  would  be  with  this 
quaintest  of  families,  who  live  here  in  the  most  primitive 
fashion,  always  treating  each  other  as  if  they  were  acquaint- 
ances of  the  day,  and  addressing  one  another  by  their  full 
titles,  as  '  Miss  Anne  Clayton,  will  you  have  the  goodness 
to  make  the  tea  ?  '  —  '  Mr.  Town-Clerk  of  Newcastle,  will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  hand  me  the  toast?  '  &c.  Miss 
Anne  is  a  venerable  lady  with  snow-white  hair,  but  her 
brother  Matthew,  who  is  rather  older,  is  convinced  that 
she  is  one  of  the  most  harum-scarum  young  girls  in  the 
world,  and  is  continually  pulling  her  up  with  k  Miss  Anne 

1  Mr.  John  Clayton  survived  till  July  1890.  leaving  personalty  val- 
ued at  £728,000,  and  real  property  supposed  to  be  worth  £20,000  ;i 
year.  The  last  member  of  his  generation,  the  universally  beloved 
Mrs.  Anne  Clayton,  died  October  30,  1890. 

2  Rev.  J.  Collingwood  Bruce,  author  of  "  The  Roman  Wall,"  &c. 
He  lived  till  1893,  and  is  commemorated  by  a  tomb  in  St.  Nicholas 
Newcastle. 

VOL.  II.  —  4 


50  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

Clayton,  youare  very  inaccurate,'  — k  .Miss  Anne  Clayton, 
be  cart- t'ul  what  you  say,'  —  '  Miss  Anne  Clayton,  another 
inaccuracy,'  -while  the  poor  old  sister  goes  on  her  own 
way  without  minding  a  bit. 

"This  afternoon  we  have  been  to  Tynemouth,  and  most 
refreshing  was  the  sea-air  upon  the  cliffs,  and  the  sight  of 
that  enchanting  old  ruin  standing  on  its  rocky  height. 
The  journey  was  very  curious  through  the  pit,  glass,  and 
alkali  country. 

"This  evening  old  Mr.  Matthew  has  been  unusually 
extraordinary,  and  very  fatiguing  —  talking  for  exactly 
two  hours  about  his  bootmakers,  Messrs.  Hoby  &  Humby 
whence  they  came,  what  they  had  done,  and  how  utterly 
unrivalled  they  were.  '  Miss  Anne  Clayton, '  he  said  at 
the  end.  '  I  hope  you  understand  all  I  've  been  saying. 
Now  wait  before  you  give  an  opinion,  but  above  all  things, 
Miss  Anne  Clayton,  don't,  don't  be  inaccurate.' ' 

"Dilston  Rail,  May  8,  1862.  I  left  Westgate  Street 
this  morning  directly  after  breakfast,  and  getting  out  of 
the  train  at  Blaydon,  walked  by  Stella  and  Ryton  to 
Wylam.  Ryton  was  very  interesting  to  me,  because  the 
church  is  full  of  monuments  of  my  Simpson  relations, 
including  that  of  old  Mrs.  Simpson,  the  mother-in-law  of 
Lady  Anne,  of  whom  we  have  a  picture,  and  of  her  father, 
Mr.  Andersen.1  from  whom  the  property  came.  As  I  was 
going  through  the  churchyard,  the  sexton  poked  up  his 
head  from  an  open  grave  to  stare  at  me.  '  Where  can  I 
get  the  church  keys?'  I  said.  'Why,  I  '11  tell  you  where- 
from  you  '11  get  them  ;  you  '11  just  get  them  out  of  my  coat- 
pocket,'  he  answered,  and  so  I  did.  It  was  a  beautiful 
church,  with  rich  stained  windows,  oak  stalls,  and  tombs, 

1  Mr.  Anderson  had  two  daughters,  my  grealrgreat-grandmdther 
Mrs.  Simpson,  and  the  Marchesa  Grimaldi,  great-grandmother  of 
Stacey  Grimaldi,  who  was  at  this  time  trying  to  establish  his  claims 
to  the  Principality  of  .Monaco. 


1862]  WORK   IX   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  51 

and  outside  it  lovely  green  haughs  sloping  down  to  the 
Tyne. 

"  Thence  I  walked  on  to  see  Bradley, 1  the  home  of  my 
great-grandmother  Lady  Anne  Simpson.     It  is  a  charming 
place,  with  deep  wooded  glens  filled  with  what  Northum 
brians  call  rowan  and  gane  trees,  and  carpeted  with  prim- 
roses and  cowslips. 

"I  arrived  at  Dilston  by  tea-time,  and  afterwards  we 
went  out  along  the  terraced  heights,  and  I  longed  for  you 
to  see  the  view  —  the  rich  hanging  woods  steeped  in  gold 
by  the  setting  sun,  while  behind  rose  the  deep  blue  moor- 
lands, and  from  below  the  splash  of  the  Devil's  Water 
came  through  the  gnarled  oaks  and  yellow  broom." 

"  Old  fflvet,  Durham,  May  4.  On  Friday  I  drew  in  the 
lovely  woods  by  the  Devil's  Water,  and  then  walked,  over- 
taken by  a  dreadful  storm  on  the  way,  to  Queen  Margaret's 
cave  in  Deepden,  where  she  met  the  robber.  Yesterday  a 
wild  moorland  drive  took  me  to  Blanchland,2  a  curious 
place,  with  a  monastic  church  and  gateway,  and  a  village 
surrounding  a  square,  in  the  deep  ravine  of  the  Derwent. 
Then  a  still  wilder  drive  brought  me  to  Stanhope,  whence 
I  came  here  by  rail  to  the  kind  Liddell  cousins. 

"  George  Liddell  has  been  telling  me  how,  when  they 
lived  out  of  the  town  at  Burnopside,  a  poor  woman  lived 
near  them  at  a  place  called  '  Standfast  Hill, '  who  used  to 
have  periodical  washings,  and  put  out  all  the  things  to  dry 
afterwards  on  the  bank  by  the  side  of  the  road.  One 
day  a  tramp  came  by  and  carried  them  all  off:  when  the 
daughter  came  out  to  take  the  things  in,  they  were  all 
gone,  and  she  rushed  back  to  her  mother  in  despair,  saying 
that  they  were  all  ruined,  the  things  were  all  gone,  &c. 

1  Bradley  was  inherited  and  sold  by  Lord  Ravensworth.  and  its 
pictures  removed  to  Eslington. 

2  The  living  of  Blanchland  was  afterwards  given  by  the  Oovernors 
of  Bamborough  to  Mr.  Gurley  on  his  marriage  with  my  cousin,  Mary 
Clutterbuck. 


52  THE   STORY  OF  MY  LIFE  [1862 

"The  Liddells  went  up  to  see  that  poor  woman  after- 
wards and  to  tell  her  how  sorry  they  were;  but  she  said. 
Vis.  there  's  1113- pom-  Mary,  she  goes  blearing  about  like 
a  mad  bull;  but  I  say  to  her,  "Dinna*  fash  yersel,  but  pray 

to  the  Lord  to  have  mercy  on  them  that   took  the  things, 
for  they  've  paid  far  dearer  than  I  ever  paid  lor  them." 

In  June  I  was  at  Chart  well  in  Kent,  when  Mr. 
Colquhoun  (who  was  one  of  the  most  perfect  types  of 
a  truly  Christian  gentleman  I  have  ever  known),  told 
nio  the  following  story,  from  personal  knowledge  both 
of  the  facts  and  persons  :  — 

"  On  awaking  one  morning,  Mr.  Rutherford  of  Egerton 
(in  Roxburghshire)  found  his  wife  dreadfully  agitated,  and 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  fc  Oh, '  she  said,. '  it  is 
something  I  really  cannot  tell  you,  because  you  could  not 
possibly  sympathise  with  it. '  —  '  But  I  insist  upon  know- 
ing, '  he  said.  '  Well, '  she  answered,  '  if  you  insist  upon 
knowing,  I  am  agitated  because  I  have  had  a  dream  which 
has  distressed  me  very  much.  I  dreamt  that  my  aunt, 
Lady  Leslie,  who  brought  me  up,  is  going  to  be  murdered ; 
and  not  only  that,  but  in  my  dream  I  have  seen  the  person 
who  is  going  to  murder  her :  —  I  have  seen  him  so  dis- 
tinctly, that  if  I  met  him  in  any  town  of  Europe,  I  should 
know  him  again.'  —  'What  bomhastical  nonsense!'  said 
Mr.  Rutherford;  'you  really  become  more  and  more 
foolish  every  day. '  —  '  Well,  my  dear, '  said  his  wife,  '  I 
told  you  that  it  was  a  thing  in  which  you  could  not  sym- 
pathise, and  I  did  not  wish  to  tell  you  my  dream.' 

"Coming  suddenly  into  her  sitting-room  during  the 
morning.  Mr.  Rutherford  found  his  wife  still  very  much 
agitated  and  distressed,  and  being  of  choleric  disposition, 
he  said  sharply,  '  Now  do  let  us  have  an  end  once  for  all 
of  this  nonsense.  Go  down  into  Fife  and  see  your  aunt, 
Lady  Leslie,  and  then,  when  you  have  found  her  alive  and 


1862]  WORK   IX   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  53 

quite  well,  perhaps  you  will  give  up  having  these  foolish 
imaginations  for  the  future.'  Mrs.  Rutherford  wished  no 
better;  she  put  a  few  things  into  a  hand-bag,  she  went  to 
Edinburgh,  she  crossed  the  Firth  of  Forth,  and  that  after- 
noon at  four  o'clock  she  drove  up  to  Lady  Leslie's  door. 
The  door  was  opened  by  a  strange  servant.  It  was  the 
man  she  had  seen  in  her  dream. 

"She  found  Lady  Leslie  well,  sitting  with  her  two 
grown-up  sons.  She  was  exceedingly  surprised  to  see  her 
niece,  but  Mrs.  Rutherford  said  that  having  that  one  day 
free,  and  not  being  able  to  come  again  for  some  time,  she 
had  seized  the  opportunity  of  coming  for  one  night;  and 
her  aunt  was  too  glad  to  see  her  to  ask  many  questions. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening  Mrs.  Rutherford  said,  '  Aunt, 
when  I  lived  at  home  with  you,  whenever  I  was  to  have 
an  especial  treat,  it  was  that  I  might  sleep  in  your  room. 
Now  I  am  only  here  for  one  night;  do  let  me  have  my  old 
child's  treat  over  again:  I  have  a  special  fancy  for  it; '  and 
Lady  Leslie  was  rather  pleased  than  otherwise.  Before 
they  went  to  bed,  Mrs.  Rutherford  had  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  her  two  cousins  alone.  She  said,  *  You  will 
be  excessively  surprised  at  what  I  ask,  but  I  shall  measure 
your  affection  for  me  entirely  by  whether  you  grant  it:  it 
is  that  you  will  sit  up  to-night  in  the  room  next  to  3-our 
mother's,  and  that  you  will  tell  no  one. '  They  promised, 
but  they  were  very  much  surprised. 

"As  they  were  going  to  bed,  Mrs.  Rutherford  said  to 
Lady  Leslie,  'Aunt,  shall  I  lock  the  door?'  and  Lady 
Leslie  laughed  at  her  and  said,  '  No,  my  dear ;  I  am  much 
too  old-fashioned  a  person  for  that,'  and  forbade  it.  But 
as  soon  as  Mrs.  Rutherford  saw  that  Lady  Leslie  was 
asleep,  she  slipped  out  of  bed  and  turned  the  lock  of  the 
door.  Then,  leaning  against  the  pillow,  she  watched,  and 
watched  the  handle  of  the  door. 

"The  reflection  of  the  fire  scintillated  on  the  round 
brass  handle  of  the  door,  and,  as  she  watched,   it  almost 


54  THE   STORY    OF    MY   LIFE  [1862 

seemed  to  mesmerise  her,  but  she  watched  still.  Suddenly 
the  speck  of  light  seemed  to  appear  on  tiieother  side;  some 
one  was  evidently  turning  the  handle  of  the  door.  Mrs. 
Rutherford  rang  the  bell  violently,  her  cousins  rushed  out 
of  the  next  room,  and  she  herself  threw  the  door  wide 
open,  and  there,  at  the  door,  stood  the  strange  servant. 
the  man  she  had  seen  in  her  dream,  with  a  covered  coal- 
scuttle in  his  hand.  The  cousins  demanded  why  lie  was 
there.  He  said  he  thought  he  heard  Lady  Leslie's  hell 
ring.  They  said,  '  But  you  do  not  answer  Lady  Leslie's 
bell  at  this  time  in  the  night,'  and  they  insisted  upon 
opening  the  coal-scuttle.     In  it  was  a  large  knife. 

"Then,  as  by  sudden  impulse,  the  man  confessed.  He 
knew  Lady  Leslie  had  received  a  large  sum  for  her  rents 
the  day  before,  that  she  kept  it  in  her  room,  and  that  it 
could  not  be  sent  away  till  the  next  day.  '  The  devil 
tempted  me,'  he  said,  '  the  devil  walked  with  me  down  the 
passage,  and  unless  God  had  intervened,  the  devil  would 
have  forced  me  to  cut  Lady  Leslie's  throat.' 

"  The  man  was  partially  mad  —  but  God  had  intervened." 

Journal  (The  Green  Book). 

" Molmhurst,  Jul//  27,  1862.  A  gorgeous  beautiful  sum- 
mer da}-  at  length,  and  it  is  our  last  here.  To-morrow  we  go 
north.  It  has  been  a  pleasant  summer,  and  it  will  be  a  very 
bright  one  to  look  back  upon.  I  have  had  the  great  delight 
of  having  Charlie  Wood  here  for  four  days  —  days  of  end- 
less conversations,  outpourings  of  old  griefs  and  joys,  of 
little  present  thoughts  and  anxieties,  of  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions for  the  future,  which  I  should  not  venture  upon  with 
any  one  else.  And  besides,  we  have  had  a  succession  of 
visitors,  each  of  whom  lias  enjoyed  our  home,  whilst  our 
little  Holmhurst  daily  twines  itself  more  and  more  round 
our  own  hearts.  Sometimes  I  have  a  sort  of  inward  trem- 
bling in  thinking  that  I  trace  an  additional  or  increasing 
degree  of  feebleness  or  age  in  my  sweetest  mother,  but  I 


1862]  WORK   IN  NORTHERN   COUNTIES  55 

do  not  think  her  ill  now,  and  may  go  to  the  North  with  a 
confident  feeling  that  it  will  be  at  the  time  which  will  suit 
her  best,  as  she  will  have  other  friends  with  her  with 
whom  she  would  rather  be  alone.  My  sweet  darling! 
what  should  I  do  without  her  ?  and  how  blank  and  black 
the  whole  world  would  seem !  Yet  even  then  I  should 
bless  God  that  this  place,  now  consecrated  by  memories  of 
her,  would  still  be  my  home,  and,  in  fulfilling  her  wishes, 
her  designs,  I  should  try  to  link  the  desolate  present  to  the 
sunny  past.  I  cannot  be  grateful  enough  for  her  power  of 
bearing  and  rallying  from  great  blows.  The  loss  of  Aunt 
Kitty  in  the  spring,  the  impending  loss  of  Aunt  Esther, 
are  furrows  which  God  permits,  but  which  He  too  smooths 
over.  I  have  even  the  comfort  of  feeling  that  it  would  be 
thus  in  case  of  my  own  death,  dreadful  as  that  would  be 
to  her  at  the  time." 

Early  in  August  I  went  with  my  mother  for  a  long 
visit  to  Buntingsdale  in  Shropshire,  the  old  pleasant 
friendly  home  of  the  Tayleurs.  The  master  of  the 
house,  William  Tayleur,  had  come  very  late  into  his 
property,  after  a  long  period  of  almost  cruel  repres- 
sion during  the  life  of  his  eccentric  father ;  but, 
unlike  most  people,  the  late  attainment  of  great 
wealth  only  made  him  full  of  anxiety  that  as  many 
as  possible  should  benefit  by  it,  and  he  was  the  very 
soul  of  courtesy,  hospitality,  and  generosity.  With 
him  lived  his  two  delightful  old  sisters  (already  men- 
tioned in  the  account  of  my  childhood),  emancipated 
when  past  fifty  from  a  thraldom  like  that  of  the 
schoolroom.  Of  these,  my  mother's  great  friend, 
Harriet,  was  the  younger  —  a  most  bright,  animated, 
clever,  and  thoroughly  excellent  person,  exceedingly 
popular  in  Shropshire  society.      The  elder.  Mary,  was 


5G  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

very  delicate  in  health,  but  a  very  pretty,  gentle  old 
lady,  who  always  wore  an  immense  bonnet,  ending  in 
a  Long  shade  of  the  kind  called  "an  ugly,"  so  that 
people  used  to  call  her  "  the  old  lady  down  the  tele- 
scope/' Buntingsdale  is  one  of  the  finest  houses  in 
Shropshire,  a  large  red  brick  mansion,  with  very 
handsome  stone  mouldings  and  pillars,  and  a  most 
splendid  flower-garden,  bordered  by  a  high  terrace 
overlooking  the  little  shining  river  Terne  and  its 
pretty  water-meadows.  I  have  seldom  known  my 
mother  happier  than  during  this  visit.  It  touched 
her  so  much  to  find  how  she  was  considered  by  these 
faithful  old  friends  —  how,  after  many  year's  absence, 
all  the  people  she  wished  to  see  were  asked  to  meet 
her,  yet  all  arranged  with  thoughtful  care,  so  as  to 
cause  her  the  least  possible  amount  of  fatigue  and 
emotion. 

We  went  to  Stoke  to  visit  my  grandfather's  grave, 
and  any  of  his  old  parishioners  who  wished  to  see  my 
mother  were  bidden  to  meet  her  in  the  churchyard. 
There  we  found  fourteen  poor  women  and  three  old 
men  waiting.  To  the  changed  Rectory  she  never 
looked.  Then  we  were  for  some  days  at  Hodnet, 
where  Lady  Valsamaehi1  was  staying,  and  both  at 
Hodnet  and  Hawkestone  my  mother  was  warmly 
welcomed  by  old  friends.  I  was  glad  to  have  the 
opportunity  of  walking  with  her  in  the  beautiful 
fields  consecrated  to  her  by  recollections  of  her  happy 
life  long  ago  in  intimacy  with  the  Hebers.  From 
Hodnet  we  went  to  spend  a  few  days  with  Henry  de 
Bunsen  at  Lilleshall  Rectory,  which  had  a  charming 

1  The  widow  of  Reginald  Ileber. 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  57 

garden,  where  all  his  parishioners  were  invited  to 
walk  on  Sunday  afternoons.  Thence  my  mother 
returned  home,  and  I  went  towards  my  northern 
work. 


To  my  Mother. 

"  Weeping  Cross,  Stafford,  August  21,  1862.     Miss  Sarah 

Salt  met  me  at  the  Stafford  station,  and  drove  me  here 

a  moderate-sized  house,  simply  furnished,  but  with  the 
luxury  of  a  cedar-wood  ceiling,  which  smells  delicious. 
Out  of  a  window-seat  in  the  low  comfortable  library  rose 
the  thin  angular  figure  of  Harriet  Salt,  speaking  in  the 
subdued  powerless  way  of  old.  She  had  a  huge  cat  with 
her,  and  an  aunt  — ■  rather  a  pretty  old  lady.  '  What  is 
your  aunt's  name  ?  '  I  said  afterwards  to  Miss  Sarah.  '  Oh, 
Aunt  Emma.'  —  '  Yes,  but  what  is  her  other  name  ?  what 
am  I  to  call  her  ? '  —  '  Oh,  call  her  Aunt  Emma ;  she  would 
never  know  herself  by  any  other  name.'  —  '  And  what  do 
you  do  when  your  Aunt  Emma  Petit  is  here  too  ? '  — '  Oh, 
she  is  only  Aunt  Emma,  and  this  is  the  other  Aunt  Emma ; 
so  when  Aunt  Emma  from  Lichfield  is  here,  and  we  want 
this  one,  we  say,  "  Other  Aunt  Emma,  will  you  come 
here  ?  "  ' 

"  After  luncheon,  we  went  out  round  the  domain  — 
paddocks  with  round  plantations,  and  a  good  deal  of 
garden.  Miss  Salt  rode  a  white  pony,  we  walked.  Then 
the  aunt  mounted  the  pony,  and  she  and  Miss  Sarah  and  I 
went  a  longer  round,  Miss  Sarah  breaking  down  the  fences 
and  pulling  the  pony  through  after  her.  'Will  not  the 
farmers  be  angry?'  I  said.  'Oh,  no:  I  threatened  to 
have  them  up  before  the  magistrates  for  stopping  up  a 
road,  so  we  compromised;  they  are  to  have  their  road,  and 
I  am  to  break  down  their  fences  and  go  wherever  I  like, 
whether  there  is  a  road  or  not.' 

"  At  seven  the  clergyman  and  his  wife  came  to  dinner. 


•~>S  THE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1862 

I  took  in  the  aunt,  a  timid  old  la<ly,  who  seldom  ventured 
a  remark,  and  then  in  the  most  diffident  manner.  This 
was  her  first  —  '  I  think  I  may  say,  in  fact  I  believe  it  has 
been  often  remarked,  that  Holland  is  a  very  flat  country. 
1  went  there  once,  and  it  struck  me  that  the  observation 
was  correct.'  In  the  evening  Miss  Sarah  looked  at  my 
drawings,  and  said,  '  Well,  on  the  whole,  considering  that 
they  are  totally  unlike  nature,  I  don't  dislike  them  quite 
so  much  as  I  expected.' 

"We  breakfasted  this  morning  at  half-past  seven,  sum- 
moned by  a  gong;  Miss  Sarah  having  said,  '  At  whatever 
hour  of  the  day  or  night  you  hear  that  gong  sound,  you 
will  know  that  you  are  expected  to  appear  somewhere.'' 
She  presided  at  the  breakfast-table  with  a  huge  tabby-cat 
seated  on  her  shoulder.  '  Does  not  that  cat  often  tear 
your  dress  ? '  I  asked.  '  No,'  she  replied,  '  but  it  very 
often  tears  my  face,'  and  went  on  pouring  out  the  tea." 

"  August  22.  Yesterday  was  hot  and  steamy,  without  a 
breath  of  air.  Miss  Sarah  drove  me  and  the  clergyman's 
wife  to  Cannock  Chase,  a  wild  healthy  upland,  with  groups 
of  old  firs  and  oaks,  extending  unenclosed  for  fifteen  miles, 
and  surrounded  by  noblemen's  houses  and  parks.  Here 
we  joined  a  picnic  party  of  fifty  people.  English  fashion, 
scarcely  anybody  spoke  to  anybody  else,  and  the  families 
sat  together  in  groups.  Afterwards  the  public  played  at 
'Aunt  Sally,'  and  I  walked  with  Miss  Salt  and  her  friends 
Misses  Anastasia  and  Theodosia  Royd  far  over  the  moor- 
lands. A  ridiculous  old  Q-entleman  went  with  us,  who 
talked  of  '  mists,  while  they  enhanced  the  merits  of  nature, 
obscuring  the  accuracy  of  vision.'  He  also  assured  us 
that  whenever  he  saw  a  snake,  he  shut  his  eyes  and  cried 
'■Murder!'  We  mounted  another  hill  for  kettle-boiling 
and  tea,  and  then  danced  country-dances  to  the  sound  of 
a  fiddle.  It  was  seven  o'clock  and  the  mists  were  rolling 
up  from  the  hollows  when  we  turned  to  go  home.      Mr. 


18U2]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  59 

Salt  was  heard  blowing  a  horn  in  the  distance,  which  his 
daughter  answered  by  a  blast  on  her  whistle,  and  so  we 
found  the  carriage." 


I  am  sorry  not  to  find  any  letters  recording  the 
visit  I  paid  after  this  to  Mr.  Petit,  the  ecclesiologist. 
He  lived  at  Lichfield  in  a  house  built  by  Miss  Porter, 
Dr.  Johnson's  step-daughter.  With  him  resided  his 
three  sisters  and  seven  cats,  who  appeared  at  all 
meals  as  part  of  the  family,  and  rejoiced  in  the  names 
of  "  Bug,  Woodlouse,  Nebuchadnezzar,  Ezekiel,  Bezor, 
Rabshakeh,  and  Eva  —  '  the  mother  of  all  the  cats.' : 
Mr.  Petit  was  most  extraordinary,  but  a  very  inter- 
esting companion.  I  had  a  capital  sight  of  the 
cathedral  with  him,  beautiful  still,  though  sadly 
"  jemmyfied  "  by  Scott,  who  has  added  some  immense 
statues  in  the  choir  which  put  everything  out  of  pro- 
portion, and  has  put  up  a  bastard-gothic  metal  screen, 
At  the  end  of  an  aisle  is  Chantrey's  monument  of  the 
two  Robinson  children,  One  of  them  was  burnt  to 
death  in  reaching  to  get  from  the  chimney-piece  the 
snowdrops  represented  in  her  hand ;  the  other  died 
of  consumption  caused  by  too  much  rowing.  When 
I  was  at  Lichfield  their  mother  was  still  living;  there 
with  her  third  husband. 

We  went  up  Borrow  Copp,  a  charming  mound 
near  the  town,  crowned  by  a  chapel-like  summer- 
house.  Here  the  three  Saxon  kings  are  supposed  to 
be  buried  whose  bodies  are  represented  in  the  arms 
of  Lichfield. 

The  Petits  are  Petits  des  Etampes,  and  were  refu- 
gees from  Caen.     They  had  a  valuable  miniature  of 


GO  THE   STORY  OF  MY  LIFE  [1862 

Mary  Queen  of  Scotts  by  Bernard  Lens,  from  their 
family  connection  with  the  Gruises.  Far  more  ex- 
traordinary than  any  other  house  I  have  ever  seen 
was  their  country  place  of —  "  Bumblekite  Hall  "  ! 

To  my  Mother. 

"Ripley  Castle,  August  28,  1862.  In  coming  down  to 
dinner,  I  found  a  tall  distinguished-looking  lady  upon  the 
staircase,  with  whom  1  made  friends  at  once  as  Charlie 
Wood's  aunt,  Lady  Georgiana  Grey.  This  afternoon  I 
went  with  her  and  Miss  Jngilby  to  Knaresborough,  a  town 
with  stone  roofs  on  a  height  above  the  Nid,  crowned  by 
the  ruins  of  the  castle  which  contains  the  vaulted  dungeon 
where  the  murderers  of  Thomas  a  Becket  were  confined. 
Below  the  castle  is  the  public-house  called  '  Mother 
Shipton,'  bearing  her  picture  and  the  inscription  — 

'  Near  to  this  petrifying  well 
I  first  drew  breath,  as  records  tell.' 

Through  the  inn  —  kept  by  one  '  Almeda  Burgess  '  —  is  a 
walk  by  the  wooded  bank  of  the  river  to  the  petrifying 
well,  which  is  highly  picturesque.  The  water  falls  from 
an  overhanging  umbrella-like  cliff  into  a  deep  basin.  A 
chain  of  stuffed  birds  is  hung  up  for  petrifaction,  taking 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  months  to  turn  into  stone:  bird's- 
nests  take  twelve  months. 

••  Also  in  the  valley  of  the  Nid,  on  the  east  of  the  town, 
is  St.  Robert's  Cave,  excavated,  as  the  guide  told  us,  by 
St.  Robert,  '  a  gentleman  who  wished  to  live  very  retired.' 
This  was  the  place  where  the  body  of  Clarke  was  discov- 
ered, which  led  to  the  execution  of  Eugene  Aram.  It  is  a 
most  curious  story. 

"  Eugene  was  the  son  of  Peter  Aram,  who  was  head- 
gardener  at  Ripley  Castle,  and  very  respectable.  But, 
together  with  two  others,   Housman  and  Clarke,  Eugene 


1862]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  61 

arranged  a  curious  scheme  of  robbery.  They  gave  out 
that  they  were  going  to  give  a  grand  supper,  and  borrowed 
a  quantity  of  plate,  which  they  made  away  with,  and  on 
the  night  of  the  supposed  supper  Eugene  and  Housman 
murdered  Clarke,  that  it  might  be  supposed,  when  he  was 
not  forthcoming,  that  he  alone  was  the  robber.  Afterwards 
Eugene  went  at  night  to  Housman's  house  and  talked  over 
what  was  to  be  done.  Before  they  left  he  said,  '  If  your 
wife  is  in  bed  upstairs,  she  must  have  heard  us ;  we  must 
make  this  secure,'  and  they  went  up  intending  to  murder 
her  if  she  was  awake,  but  they  passed  the  candle  before 
her  eyes,  and  she  bore  it  without  flinching.  Then  they 
went  down  again  and  burnt  the  clothes  of  the  murdered 
man.  Only  the  buttons  fell  uninjured  amongst  the  cinders, 
and  were  found  next  morning  by  the  wife.  Afterwards, 
whenever  she  had  a  quarrel  with  her  husband,  she  fright- 
ened him  by  saying,  '  How  about  those  buttons  ? ' 

"Housman  and  Aram  buried  the  body  in  St.  Robert's 
Cave,  which  was  then  filled  with  earth.  Brushwood  and 
briars  grew  over  it,  and  no  trace  was  left ;  but  the  murder- 
ers had  a  perpetual  dread  that  some  day  the  Nid  would 
rise  and  lay  the  body  bare,  and  whenever  there  was  a  very 
high  wind,  Housman  for  years  used  to  go  to  see  that  it 
was  not  uncovered. 

"Eugene  Aram  went  away  to  Norfolk,  where  he  pros- 
pered exceedingly,  and  'visited  with  the  best  families.' 
But  fourteen  years  after  the  murder,  some  workmen  dig- 
ging in  St.  Robert's  Cave  found  a  skeleton.  'I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  this  were  Clarke,'  said  one  of  them.  '  No,  it 
is  not,'  said  one  of  his  companions,  and  this  led  to  his 
arrest.  It  was  Housman.  He  then  confessed  to  the  mur- 
der, and  said  that  Eugene  Aram  was  his  accomplice ;  but 
Eugene  Aram  was  gone. 

"It  happened,  however,  that  a  Knaresborough  pedlar,  in 
his  walks  through  Norfolk,  accidentally  recognised  Eugene 
Aram  in  a  garden.     On  his  return  home,  he  gave  notice  to 


62  THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

the  constables,  who  went  to  Norfolk  and  fetched  him  away, 
and  he  was  executed.  The  murder  took  place  in  174"), 
the  execution  in  1759.  It  is  said  that  after  the  murder 
Eugene  never  gave  his  right  hand  to  any  one.  After  he 
was  executed,  the  'linger  of  scorn  pointed  at  his  family,' 
and  they  went  to  America.  The  mother  of  the  old  woman 
who  showed  us  the  cave  knew  Clarke's  widow  intimately. 

"A  letter  of  Eugene  Aram  is  preserved  at  Ripley 
Castle.1  There  were  many  letters  there  from  Peter  Aram, 
his  father,  but  they  were  destroyed  by  the  late  Lady 
Ingilby,  because  they  were  'so  wicked  and  blasphemous.' 
The  chief  point  against  Eugene  Aram  was  that,  when  he 
was  discovered,  a  defence  was  found  which  he  had  written 
twelve  years  before:  this  is  made  use  of  in  Bulwer's 
novel. 

"  In  the  evening  something  was  said  about  many  ghost- 
stories  being  the  result  of  a  practical  joke.     Lady  Georgi- 
ana  Grey,  who  had  been  sitting  quietly,  suddenly  rose  — 
awful  almost  with  her  white  face  and  long  black  velvet 
dress  —  and  exclaimed,  '  If  any  one  ever  dared  to  play  a 
practical  joke  upon  me,  all  my  fortune,  all  my  energies, 
my  whole  life  would  be  insufficient  to  work  my  revenge.' 
And  she  swept  out  of  the  room.     They  say  it  is  because  of 
the  Grey  story  about  a  head.     Lady  Georgiana  first  saw 
the  head,  when  she  was  in  bed  in  Hanover  Square,  in  the 
autumn  of  1823.     She  rushed  for  refuge  to  her  mother's 
room,  where  she  remained  all  night.     Lady  Grey  desired 
her  on  no  account  to  mention  what  she  had  seen  to  her 
father.     But  a  fortnight  later  Lord  Grey  came  into  the 
room  where   Lad}-  Georgiana  was  sitting  with  her  mother 
and  sister,  much  agitated,  saying  that  he  had  just  seen  a 
head  roll  towards  him." 

"Ripley    Castle,  August  30.     The    old  Ladies  Ruthven 
and   Belhaven  came  to-day.     They  appear  to  have   spent 

1  The  curious  old  muniment  room  at  Ripley  is  now  modernised, 
indeed  destroyed. 


1862]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN    COUNTIES  63 

their  lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  dukes,  but  are  very  simple 
great  ladies,  chiefly  interested  by  art  and  artists,  and  draw 
well  themselves.  Lady  Belhaven  is  allowed  by  her  hus- 
band to  be  with  her  sister  now  because  of  the  odd  illness 
of  the  latter,  an  invincible  sleeplessness,  which  makes  her 
very  peculiar,  and  gives  her  a  habit  of  talking  to  herself 
in  a  low  murmur,  however  many  people  are  around  her. 
Rather  to  my  alarm,  I  had  to  take  her  in  to  dinner,  and  as 
she  is  very  deaf,  to  talk  to  her  the  whole  time  at  the  pitch 
of  my  voice ;  but  we  got  on  very  well  notwithstanding,  so 
well  indeed,  that  before  the  fish  had  been  taken  away  she 
had  asked  me  to  come  to  stay  with  her  at  her  castle  in 
Scotland.  As  soon  as  dinner  was  over  she  made  me  bring 
my  portfolio  and  sit  the  whole  evening  talking  to  her 
about  my  drawings.  However,  I  was  very  glad  of  it,  as, 
when  she  went  to  bed,  she  said,  'I  have  been  so  very 
happy  this  evening.' " 

"  September  1.  Saturday  was  a  dismally  wet  day.  We 
sat  in  the  oak  parlour,  drew  and  told  stories.  Lady  Ruth- 
ven  has  lived  many  years  at  Athens,  and  four  years  — 
winter  and  summer  —  at  Rome,  and  in  summer  used  to 
study  '  Roma  Adombrata,'  which  taught  her  how  to  walk 
in  the  shade.  On  Sundays  she  invited  all  the  artists,  who 
never  went  to  church,  to  her  house,  and  'read  them  a 
sermon,  poor  things,  for  the  good  of  their  souls.' 

"She  used  when  at  Rome  to  go  to  'La  toilette  des 
pieds'  of  Pauline  Borghese.  Regular  invitations  were 
issued  for  it.  When  the  guests  arrived,  they  found  the 
Princess  —  supremely  lovely  —  with  her  beautiful  little 
white  feet  exposed  upon  a  velvet  cushion.  Then  two  or 
three  maids  came  in,  and  touched  the  feet  with  a  sponge 
and  dusted  them  with  a  little  powder  —  '  c'e'tait  la  toilette 
des  pieds.'  The  Duke  of  Hamilton  used  to  take  up  one  of 
the  little  feet  and  put  it  inside  his  waistcoat  'like  a  little 
bird.'  .  .  .  Lady  Ruthven  and  all  her  household  are  still 


64  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

wearing  mourning  for  Lord  Ruthven,  who  died  seven 
years  ago. 

"The  people  here  are  full  of  quaint  character,  especially 
two  brothers  'Johnny  and  Jacky.'  Said  Johnny  to  Jacky 
the  other  day,  '  I  Ve  found  a  saxpen'ce.'  —  'That's  moine,' 
said  Jacky,  'for  I've  lost  un.'  —  'Had  thoine  a  haule  in 
it?'  said  Johnny.  —  'Ees,'  said  Jacky.  —  'Then  this  ain't 
thoine,'  said  Johnny,  'for  there's  na  haule  in't.' 

"Mrs.  Ingilby  herself  is  perfection — so  refined  and 
agreeable.  No  one  would  believe,  when  they  see  how 
admirably  and  unaffectedly  she  manages  the  castle  and 
£20,000  a  year,  that  seven  years  ago  she  and  her  husband 
lived  in  a  Lincolnshire  cottage  with  only  £800  a  year  of 
income. 

"  Lady  Georgiana  Grey  told  me  a  curious  story  of 
some  friends  of  hers. 

"Lady  Pennyman  and  her  daughters  took  a  house  at 
Lille.  The  day  after  they  arrived  they  went  to  order 
some  things  from  a  warehouse  in  the  town,  and  gave  their 
address.  'What,'  said  the  man,  'are  you  living  there, 
ma'am?  Did  I  not  misunderstand  you?'  —  'Yes,'  said 
Lady  Pennyman,  '  that  is  where  I  live.  Is  there  anything 
against  the  place  ? ' 

"  '  Oh  dear,  no,  ma'am,'  said  the  warehouseman  ;  '  only 
the  house  has  been  for  a  long  time  without  being  let, 
because  they  say  it 's  haunted.'  Going  home,  Lady  Penny- 
man  laughed  to  her  daughters,  and  said,  'Well,  we  shall 
see  if  the  ghost  will  frighten  vs  away.' 

"  But  the  next  morning  Lady  Pennyman's  maid  came  to 
her  and  said,  'If  you  please,  ma'am,  Mrs.  Crowder  and  me 
must  change  our  rooms.  We  can't  remain  where  we  are, 
ma'am;  it's  quite  impossible.  The  ghost,  he  makes  such 
a  noise  over  our  heads,  we  can  get  no  sleep  at  all.' — ■ 
'Well,  you  can  change  your  room,'  said  Lady  Pennyman; 
'but  what  is  there  over  your  room  where  you  sleep?  I 
will  go  and  see  ; '  and  she  found  a  very  long  gallery,  quite 


1S62]  WORK   IN    NORTHERN   COUNTIES  65 

empty  except  for  a  huge  iron  cage,  in  which  it  was  evident 
that  a  human  being  had  been  confined. 

"  A  few  days  after,  a  friend,  a  lady  living  in  Lille,  came 
to  dine  with  them.  She  was  a  very  strong-minded  person, 
and  when  she  heard  of  the  servants'  alarm,  she  said,  '  Oh, 
Lady  Pennyman,  do  let  me  sleep  in  that  room ;  I  shall  not 
be  frightened,  and  if  I  sleep  there,  perhaps  the  ghost  will 
be  laid.'  So  she  sent  away  her  carriage  and  stayed ;  but  the 
next  morning  she  came  down  quite  pale  and  haggard,  and 
said  certainly  she  had  seen  the  figure  of  a  young  man  in  a 
dressing-gown  standing  opposite  her  bed,  and  yet  the  door 
was  locked,  and  there  could  have  been  no  real  person 
there.  A  few  days  afterwards,  towards  evening,  Lady 
Pennyman  said  to  her  daughter,  '  Bessie,  just  go  up  and 
fetch  the  shawl  which  I  left  in  my  room.'  Bessie  went, 
and  came  down  saying  that  as  she  went  up  she  saw  the 
figure  of  a  young  man  in  a  dressing-gown  standing  on  the 
flight  of  stairs  opposite  to  her. 

"  One  more  attempt  at  explanation  was  made.  A  sailor 
son,  just  come  from  sea,  was  put  to  sleep  in  the  room. 
When  he  came  down  in  the  morning,  he  was  quite  angry, 
and  said,  '  What  did  you  think  I  was  going  to  be  up  to, 
mother,  that  you  had  me  watched?  Why  did  you  send 
that  fellow  in  the  dressing-gown  to  look  after  me  ?  '  The 
next  day  the  Pennymans  left  the  house. 

"  Lady  Georgiana  also  told  me  :  — 

"  There  was  once  a  Bishop  Thomas.1  His  mother  one 
day  awoke,  having  dreamt  that  her  husband  had  fought  a 
duel  and  was  killed.  She  was  much  frightened  by  her 
dream,  and,  having  great  influence  over  her  husband,  she 
persuaded  him  not  to  go  out  that  day  as  usual,  but  to 
stay  at  home  with  her.  They  lived  in  Spring  Gardens, 
and  having  stayed  in  all  day,  towards  four  o'clock  Mr. 

1  Dr.  John  Thomas,  Bishop  of   Peterborough,  and  afterwards  of 
Salisbury  —  some  time  tutor  to  George  III. 

VOL.  II.  —  5 


66  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1S62 

Thomas  began  to  repine,  and  to  wish  to  go  out  and  walk 
in  the  Park.  Mrs.  Thomas  assented  on  condition  of  going 
with  him,  and  they  walked  in  the  Park  and  enjoyed  it 
very  much.  While  they  were  out,  they  met  an  old  Indian 
friend  of  Mr.  Thomas,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  years, 
and  was  delighted  to  meet.  They  talked  over  old  times 
and  scenes  with  great  avidity,  and  at  last  Mr.  Thomas  said 
that  he  would  see  his  old  friend  hack  to  his  hotel.  Mrs. 
Thomas,  being  tired,  begged  to  be  left  at  her  own  house 
on  the  way. 

"Mrs.  Thomas  waited  long  for  her  husband's  return. 
At  last  she  heard  a  sound  of  many  footsteps  coming  down 
the  street,  and  a  voice  asking  which  was  Mrs.  Thomas's 
house.  She  rushed  down  saying,  '  You  need  not  tell  me ; 
I  know  what  has  happened,'  and  she  found  her  dream 
realised.  Mr.  Thomas  had  gone  back  to  the  hotel  with 
his  friend.  According  to  the  custom  of  that  time,  they 
drank  a  good  deal  together:  they  quarrelled  over  their 
wine  they  fought,  and  Mr.  Thomas  was  killed.  The  child 
that  was  born  afterwards  was  Bishop  Thomas." 

"  Middleton  in  Teesdale,  Sept.  3.  Yesterday  I  went  with 
the  party  at  Ripley  to  Brimham  Rocks,  a  most  curious 
place  —  the  rock  clustered  in  groups  of  enormous  and  fan- 
tastic forms  on  the  very  top  of  the  Yorkshire  range,  and 
with  a  splendid  view  over  the  country,  even  York  Minster 
appearing  in  the  hazy  distance. 

"  I  slept  at  Barnard  Castle  last  night,  and  set  out  at 
eight  this  morning  for  the  Fells.  It  was  gloomy  and  dis- 
mal, with  mists  gathering  black  over  the  distance,  and 
constant  rain  falling;  but  there  was  no  alternative.  The 
valley  of  Upper  Teesdale  is  in  some  ways  like  a  valley  in 
the  Alps,  the  glaringly  white  farmhouses  scattered  thinly 
over  the  brilliantly  green  meadows,  the  hedgerows  and 
trees  replaced  by  low  rugged  stone  walls,  '  the  Grass  of 
Parnassus'    springing   up   by   the   side    of    all    the    clear 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  67 

streams.  The  people  are  all  '  kin  '  to  one  another,  and 
are  singularly  honest  and  truthful.  '  They  are  all  sin- 
cere men  in  these  parts, '  said  the  guide,  '  and  if  they  tell 
you  a  tale,  you  may  know  it 's  because  they  're  deceived.' 
We  met  a  man  on  a  horse.  '  What  a  long  cloak  that 
man  has, '  I  said.  '  Yes, '  answered  the  driver,  '  but  he  's 
a  good  man  and  a  just,  and  he  fears  God  rather  than 
men. ' 

"  The  High  Force  is  a  truly  grand  waterfall,  where  the 
whole  river  tosses  over  a  huge  precipice  in  the  black 
basaltic  cliff.  We  left  the  gig  at  a  little  inn  at  Langdon 
Beck,  whence  we  set  out  on  a  weary  foot-pilgrimage  — ■  a 
most  fatiguing  walk  of  ten  miles,  over  broken  edges  of 
scars,  along  the  torrent-bed,  through  rushes  and  bogs  and 
heather,  and  across  loose  slippery  shale  —  all  this  too  in 
ceaseless  rain  and  wind,  and  with  the  burden  of  a  thick 
Scotch  cloak.  But  Cauldron  Snout  is  a  very  curious 
waterfall,  quite  out  in  the  desolate  moorlands,  with  the 
Westmoreland  Fells  looming  behind  it.  I  was  completely 
wet  through  before  we  got  there,  and  came  back  plunging 
from  tuft  to  tuft  of  rushes  in  the  boggy  moorlands.  At 
one  time  we  took  refuge  in  a  shepherd's  hut,  where  an 
old  shepherd,  with  flowing  white  hair  and  horn  spectacles, 
was  reading  the  Bible  to  his  grandchildren  —  a  group  like 
many  pictures  one  has  seen.  Here  my  socks  were  dipped 
in  hot  water  and  put  on  again,  the  mountaineer's  remedy 
against  cold." 

"Ridley  Rail,  Sept.  7.  Yesterday  Cousin  Susan  sent 
me  to  Bonnyrigg,  Sir  Edward  Blackett's  place  in  the 
moors  —  an  enchanting  drive,  out  of  the  inhabited  country 
into  the  purple  heather-land,  where  the  desolate  blue 
Northumbrian  lakes  lie  at  the  foot  of  their  huge  precipitous 
crags.  Bonnyrigg  itself  is  embosomed  in  woods,  yet  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  rock  and  moorland,  and  with  a 
delightful   view   of   Greenlea    Lough.     The    Scotts   were 


G8  THE  STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

staving  their,  and  I  walked  with  the  General J  along  the 
Roman  Wall,  high  on  the  cliffs  and  running  from  crag  to 
crag,  as  perfect  in  its  1600th  year  as  in  its  first." 

"  Clusters,  He.ihum,  Sept.  10.  I  came  here  yesterday. 
My  aged  hostess,  the  elder  sister  of  the  Newcastle  Clayton 
family,  is  of  a  most  tall,  weird  figure,  and  speaks  in  an 
abrupt,  energetic,  startling  manner,  but  she  is  the  must 
perfect  lady  imaginable,  both  in  feeling  and  manners,  and 
her  kindness  and  thoughtfulness  and  consideration  for 
others  make  her  beloved  far  and  wide.  Chesters  is  famous 
for  its  liberal  unostentatious  hospitality,  and  Miss  Clayton 
always  lives  here,  though  it  is  her  brother's  place,  and  he 
resides  at  Newcastle.  She  reads  everything,  and  is  ready 
to  talk  on  any  subject,  but  her  great  hobby  is  Roman 
antiquities,  and  she  is  one  of  the  best  antiquarians  in  the 
North,  which  is  only  as  it  should  be,  as  Cilurnum,  one  of 
the  finest  of  the  Roman  stations,  is  here  in  the  garden, 
where  there  is  also  a  museum  of  Roman  relics.  This 
house  is  about  the  size  of  Hurstmonceaux  Place,2 and  most 
thoroughly  comfortable,  with  wide1  well-lighted  galleries 
on  each  storey,  filled  with  water-colour  drawings  by 
Richardson,  with  Roman  antiquities,  and  curiosities  of 
all  kinds. 

"This  morning  we  were  called  at  six,  breakfasted  at 
seven,  and  at  half-past  seven  in  the  bright  cold  morning 
Miss  Clayton  herself  drove  me  down  to  the  train  at  Chol- 
lerford.  A  delightful  journey  brought  me  to  Kielder, 
where,  under  the  heather-clad  hills,  close  to  the  Scottish 
Border,  is  the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  favourite  castle 
and  the  scene  of  the  beautiful  ballad  of  the  '  Cout  of 
Kielder.'     I  wandered  through  the  valley:  — 

1  General  Scott  had  married  the  Hon.  Alethea  Stanley,  sister  of 
Mrs.  Marcus  Hare. 

-    It  was  rebuilt  on  a  large  scale  in  1893. 


1862]  WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  69 

"  Up  to  '  the  bonny  brae,  the  green, 
Yet  sacred  to  the  brave  ; 
Where  still,  of  ancient  size,  is  seen 
Gigantic  Kielder's  grave. 

'Where  weeps  the  birch  with  branches  green 

Without  the  holy  ground, 
Between  two  old  grey  stones  is  seen 
The  warrior's  ridgy  mound.' 

Coming  back,  I  left  the  train  at  Bellinghani,  and  walked 
to  Hesleyside,  the  fine  place  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Charl- 
tons,  where  the  celebrated  Charlton  spur  is  preserved, 
which  the  lady  of  the  house,  in  time  of  Border  raids,  used 
to  serve  up  at  dinner  whenever  she  wished  to  indicate  that 
her  larder  needed  replenishing." 

"  Chesters,  Sept.  13.  On  Thursday  Miss  Clayton  drove 
me  in  her  Irish  car  up  North  Tyne  to  Chipchase  Castle,  a 
noble  old  Jacobean  house  on  a  height,  with  a  Norman 
tower,  and  afterwards  to  Simonburn  and  Tecket  Lynn  —  a 
most  picturesque  waterfall  through  fern-fringed  rocks;  a 
very  artistic  '  subject, '  too  little  known.  Mr.  John  Clayton 
and  Dr.  Bruce  arrived  in  the  evening,  and  Roman  antiqui- 
ties became  the  order  of  the  next  day.  We  set  off  in  a 
hurricane  of  cold  wind  in  the  Irish  car,  along  the  Roman 
Wall,  and  spent  the  whole  day  amongst  Roman  remains, 
lunching  at  Hotbank  Farm,  where  the  Armstrongs  live  - 
last  relics  of  the  great  mosstrooping  family  —  inspiring  a 
sort  of  clannish  attachment  still,  as  when  the  last  farmer 
died  in  1859,  two  hundred  mounted  Borderers  escorted 
him  across  the  moorland  to  his  grave. 

"  The  great  Roman  station  of  Housesteads  (Borcovicus) 
is  a  perfect  English  Pompeii  of  excavated  houses  and 
streets.  Hence  we  clambered  across  stone  walls  and  bogs 
for  several  miles  to  Sewing  Shields,  where  Arthur  and 
Guinevere  and  all  their  knights  lie  asleep  in  a  basaltic 
cavern.   .   .   .   The   Claytons    are   indescribably  kind,    and 


,1)  THE   STORY   OF    MY   LIFE  [1802 

spare   qo  pains 'to  amuse,   interest,  and  instruct  me,  and 
their  horses  seem  as  untirable." 

"  Chesti  rs,  Sept.  15.  I  am  beeoming  increasingly  attached 
to  '  Aunt  Saily, '  who  is  always  finding  out  all  the  good 
she  can  in  her  neighbours  and  guests,  and  doing  every- 
thing possible  to  make  the  world  bright  and  pleasant 
to  them:  being  really  so  loving  and  gentle  herself,  she 
influences  all  around  her.  On  Saturday  she  took  me  to 
Houghton  Castle,  one  of  the  most  perfect  inhabited  feudal 
fortresses  in  the  county;  and  to-day  to  Fallowfield,  where 
there  is  a  Roman  inscription  on  a  grey  rock  — k  the  Written 
Rock  '  —  in  the  moorland." 

"  Otterbum,  Sept.  18.  I  left  the  train  at  Bellingham, 
where  I  found  no  further  means  of  locomotion  except  a 
huge  chariot  with  two  horses.  So,  after  going  on  a  vain 
search  for  a  cart  to  all  the  neighbouring  farmhouses,  I  was 
obliged  to  engage  it;  but  then  there  was  another  difficulty, 
for  the  key  of  the  coach-house  was  lost,  and  I  had  to  wait 
an  hour  till  a  smith  could  be  brought  to  break  it  open. 
At  length  I  set  off  in  the  great  lumbering  vehicle  across 
the  roughest  moorland  road  imaginable  —  mere  blocks  of 
stone,  scarcely  chipped  at  all,  with  gates  at  every  turn, 
over  hideous  barren  moorland,  no  heather,  only  dead  moss 
and  blackened  rushes  and  fern.  It  was  like  the  drive  in 
k  Rob  Roy.'  At  last,  in  the  gloaming,  we  drove  over  a 
rude  bridge  and  up  to  this  gothic  castle,  with  terraces  in 
front  sloping  down  to  the  sullen  Reedwater  and  barren 
deserted  Fells.  My  host,  Mr.  James,  has  nine  sons,  of 
whom  the  two  youngest,  Charlie  and  Christie,  are  here 
now,  and  scamper  on  two  little  ponies  all  over  the  country. 
The  whole  family  are  inclined  to  abundant  rude  hospi- 
tality, and  delight  to  entice  visitors  into  these  deserts. 
They  have  taken  me  to  Elsdon,  a  curious  desolate  village 
in  the  hills,  where  the  Baillies  are  rectors,  and  live  in  a 


1862]  WORK  IN  NORTHERN   COUNTIES  71 

dismal  old  castle,  built  to  fortify  the  rector  in  mosstroop- 
ing  times.  It  is  a  place  quite  out  of  the  world,  so  very 
high  up,  that  the  coming  of  any  chance  stranger  is  quite 
an  event:  its  people  live  entirely  by  keeping  sheep  and 
rearing  geese  in  large  flocks." 

"Matfen,  Sept.  20.  We  had  a  very  long  excursion  from 
Otterburn  on  Thursday.  In  these  high  moorlands,  thirty- 
five  miles  is  thought  nothing  extraordinary,  and  we  drove 
in  a  brilliant  morning  all  up  the  course  of  the  Reedwater, 
through  rocky  valleys  and  relics  of  ancient  forest,  and  by 
the  Roman  station  of  High  Rochester  to  the  Scottish 
border,  upon  the  famous  Reedswire.  Here  we  carried  our 
baskets  up  the  hills  and  picnicked  just  inside  Scotland, 
looking  over  the  Lammermoor  Hills  and  the  valley  of 
Jedburgh  to  Edinburgh  far  in  the  hazy  distance.  I  long 
for  my  mother  in  all  these  moorland  scenes  —  such  feasts 
of  beauty  to  mind  and  eye.  The  next  morning  we  walked 
to  Troughend,  the  grim  haunted  house  of  the  Border  hero 
Percy  Reed.1  Then  I  went  with  '  Christie  '  to  Percy's 
Cross,  where  Percy  fell  in  the  battle  of  Chevy  Chase,  and 
Witherington  fought  upon  his  stumps.2  Altogether  it  is 
an  enchanting  neighbourhood,  full  of  ballads  and  tradi- 
tions. ...  I  much  enjoy,  however,  the  comparative  rest 
at  Matfen,  nine  or  ten  hours  being  the  least  time  I  was 
out  any  day  at  Chesters  or  Otterburn.  Lady  Blackett  has 
been  telling  me  a  very  curious  story  —  from  her  personal 
knowledge. 

"Mrs.  Bulman  went  up  from  Northumberland  to  Lon- 
don, taking  her  little  child  with  her.  The  evening  after 
she  arrived  at  her  London  house,  she  had  occasion  to  go 
downstairs,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  passed  a  man  talk- 
ing to  her  maid ;  at  that  time  she  happened  to  have  a  bank- 
note in  her  hand.     Afterwards  she  went  upstairs  again, 

1  Well  known  from  the  ballad  of  "  The  Death  of  Parcy  Reed." 

2  See  the  ballad  of  "  Chevy  Chase." 


72  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [18G2 

and  put  her  child  to  bed.  In  a  little  while  she  went  up 
to  see  if  it  was  comfortable.  When  she  went  into  the 
room,  the  child  was  in  bed,  hut  appeared  to  he  in  rather  an 
excited  state,  and  said,  '  Mama,  I  feel  quite  sure  that  there 
is  somebody  under  the  bed.'  Mrs,  Bulman  said,  'Non- 
sense, my  dear;  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind:  only  jrou 
are  over-tired;  so  go  to  sleep,  and  do  not  think  of  any- 
thing else  foolish;  '  and  she  went  downstairs. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  child  did  then,  but  when  Mrs. 
Bulman  went  up  again,  there  was  no  one  under  the  bed, 
but  the  window  was  open,  and  the  lock  of  the  desk  on  the 
table  had  been  tried. 

"  Many  years  afterwards,  Mrs.  Bulman  had  occasion  to 
visit  a  London  prison.  When  she  was  going  away,  the 
governor  came  to  her  and  said  that  there  was  a  man  there 
who  was  under  sentence  of  death,  and  that  he  could  not 
account  for  it,  but,  having  seen  Mrs.  Bulman  pass  as  she 
went  into  the  prison,  he  was  exceedingly  importunate  to 
be  allowed  to  speak  to  her,  if  it  were  only  for  a  moment. 
'Well,'  said  Mrs.  Bulman,  'if  it  will  be  any  comfort  to 
the  poor  man,  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  speak  to 
him, '  and  she  went  to  his  cell.  She  did  not  recollect  ever 
having  seen  the  man  before,  but  he  said  that  as  he  was  so 
soon  to  go  into  another  world,  it  could  not  matter  to  him 
what  he  confessed  now,  and  that  he  thought  it  might  be 
some  satisfaction  to  her  to  know  what  a  very  narrow  escape 
she  had  once  had  of  her  life. 

"He  said  he  was  in  the  house  talking  to  her  maid,  hav- 
ing gone  in  to  visit  one  of  her  servants,  when  she  came 
downstairs  with  the  banknote  in  her  hand,  and  that  he 
could  not  say  what  tempted  him,  but  that  he  had  seized  a 
knife  and  hidden  himself  behind  a  door  till  she  passed  on 
her  way  upstairs  again.  Then  he  found  his  way  to  her 
room  and  concealed  himself  under  her  bed.  There  he  had 
heard  her  come  in  and  put  the  child  to  bed  and  leave  it, 
and  then,  amazed  at  the  strangeness  of  his  situation,  he 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN    COUNTIES  73 

turned  round.  She  came  back,  and  he  heard  the  child  tell 
her  that  there  was  a  man  under  the  bed,  and  if  at  that 
moment  she  had  looked  under,  he  should  have  sprung  out 
and  murdered  her.  She  did  not,  and  afterwards  hearing 
a  noise  downstairs,  he  thought  it  was  better  to  make  his 
escape,  which  he  did  by  the  window,  leaving  it  open 
behind  him." 

"  Wallington,  Sept.  2-4.  On  the  way  here  I  stopped  to 
see  Belsay,  the  finest  of  the  Border  fortresses,  a  grand  old 
gothic  tower,  standing  in  a  beautiful  garden  and  amongst 
fine  trees. 

"  Opening  from  the  enclosed  courtyard,  which  now 
forms  a  great  frescoed  hall  in  the  centre  of  this  house  of 
Wallington,  are  endless  suites  of  huge  rooms,  only  partly 
carpeted  and  thinly  furnished  Avith  ugly  last-century  fur- 
niture, partly  covered  with  faded  tapestry.  The  last  of 
these  is  '  the  ghost-room, '  and  Wallington  is  still  a  haunted 
house:  awful  noises  are  heard  all  through  the  night;  foot- 
steps rush  up  and  down  the  untrodden  passages;  wings 
flap  and  beat  against  the  windows ;  bodiless  people  unpack 
and  put  away  their  things  all  night  long,  and  invisible 
beings  are  felt  to  breathe  over  you  as  you  lie  in  bed.  I 
think  my  room  quite  horrid,  and  it  opens  into  a  long  suite 
of  desolate  rooms  by  a  door  which  has  no  fastening,  so  I 
have  pushed  the  heavy  dressing-table  with  its  weighty 
mirror,  &c,  against  it  to  keep  out  all  the  nasty  things 
that  might  try  to  come  in.  Old  Lady  Trevelyan  was  a 
very  wicked  woman  and  a  miser:  she  lived  here  for  many 
years,  and  is  believed  to  wander  here  still:  her  son,  Sir 
Walter,  has  never  been  known  to  laugh. 

"Sir  Walter  is  a  strange -looking  being,  with  long  hair 
and  moustache,  and  an  odd  careless  dress.  He  also  lias 
the  reputation  of  being  a  miser.1     He  is  a  great  teetotaller, 

1  Sir  Charles  Trevelyan,  Sir  Walter's  cousin  and  heir,  who  read 
this,  asked  me  to  add  a  note,  and  to  say  that  though  it  is  quite  true 


74  THE    STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

and  inveighs  everywhere  against  wine  and  beer:  I  trembled 
as  I  ran  the  gauntlet  of  public  opinion  yesterday  in  accept- 
ing a  glass  of  sherry.  Lady  Trevelyan  is  a  great  artist. 
She  is  a  pleasant,  bright  little  woman,  with  sparkling  black 
cms,  who  paints  beautifully,  is  intimately  acquainted  with 
all  the  principal  artists,  imports  baskets  from  Madeira  and 
lace  from  Iloniton,  and  sells  them  in  Northumberland,  and 
always  sits  upon  the  rug  by  preference. 

"  There  is  another  strange  being  in  the  house.  It  is  Mr. 
Wooster,  who  came  to  arrange  the  collection  of  shells  four 
years  ago,  and  has  never  gone  away.  He  looks  like  a 
church-brass  incarnated,  and  turns  up  his  eyes  when  he 
speaks  to  you,  till  you  see  nothing  but  the  whites.  He  also 
has  a  long  trailing  moustache,  and  in  all  things  imitates, 
but  caricatures,  Sir  Walter.  What  he  does  here  nobody 
seems  to  know;  the  Trevelyans  say  he  puts  the  shells  to 
rights,  but  the  shells  cannot  take  four  years  to  dust." 

"Sept.  26. — Such  a  curious  place  this  is!  and  such 
curious  people!  I  get  on  better  with  them  now,  and  even 
Sir  Walter  is  gruffly  kind  and  grumpily  amiable.  As  to 
information,  he  is  a  perfect  mine,  and  he  knows  every  book 
and  ballad  that  ever  was  written,  every  story  of  local 
interest  that  ever  was  told,  and  every  flower  and  fossil 
that  ever  was  found  —  besides  the  great-grandfathers  and 
invat-oTandmothers  of  evervbodv  dead  or  alive.  His  con- 
versation  is  so  curious  that  I  follow  him  about  everywhere, 
and  take  notes  under  his  nose,  which  he  does  not  seem  to 
mind  in  the  least,  but  only  says  something  more  quaint 
and  astonishing  the  next  minute.  Lady  Trevelyan  is 
equally  unusual.  She  is  abrupt  to  a  degree,  and  contra- 
dicts everything.     Her  little  black  eyes  twinkle  witli  mirth 

thai  Sir  Walter  was  a  miser,  he  was  only  a  miser  for  philanthropic 
purposes.  He  gave  £00.000  at  once  for  a  railway  which  he  thought 
would  benefit  the  district  in  which  he  lived,  and  his  charities,  though 
eccentric,  were  quite  boundless. 


18G2]  WORK  IN    NORTHERN   COUNTIES  75 

all  day  long,  though  she  says  she  is  ill  and  has  '  the  most 
extraordinary  feels ;  '  she  is  '  sure  no  one  ever  had  such 
extraordinary  feels  as  she  has.'  She  never  appears  to 
attend  to  her  house  a  bit,  which  is  like  the  great  desert 
with  one  or  two  little  oases  in  it,  where  by  good  manage- 
ment you  may  possibly  make  yourself  comfortable.  She 
paints  foxgloves  in  fresco  and  makes  little  sketches  a  la 
Ruskin  in  the  tiniest  of  books  —  chiefly  of  pollard  willows, 
which  she  declares  are  the  most  beautiful  things  in  nature. 
To  see  pollard  willows  in  perfection  she  spent  six  weeks 
last  spring  in  the  flattest  parts  of  Holland,  and  thought  it 
lovely  —  '  the  willows  so  fine  and  the  boat-life  so  healthy. ' 
'  Well,  you  will  go  to  the  bad, '  she  said  to  me  yesterday, 
because  I  did  not  admire  a  miserable  little  drawing  of 
Ruskin:  my  own  sketches  she  thinks  quite  monstrous. 

"  We  went  the  day  before  yesterday  to  Capheaton,  the 
home  of  the  Swinburnes,  a  very  curious  old  house,  and  Sir 
John  Swinburne,  a  very  pleasing  young  miser,  is  coming 
to  dinner  to-day.  Yesterday  we  went  through  fog  and 
rain  to  Camphoe,  Kirk  Whelpington,  and  Little  Harle,  a 
fine  inhabited  castle.  Sir  Walter  made  me  wade  through 
the  Wansbeck  as  we  came  back!  ' 

"  Sept.  28.  —  The  more  one  knows  Sir  Walter  and  Lady 
Trevelyan,  the  more  one  finds  how,  through  all  their 
peculiarities,  they  are  to  be  liked  and  respected.  Every- 
thing either  of  them  says  is  worth  hearing,  and  they  are  so 
full  of  information  of  every  kind,  that  the  time  here  has 
been  all  too  short  for  hearing  them  talk.1  On  Thursday, 
Miss  Ogle,  the  authoress  of  that  charming  novel  '  A  Lost 
Love,'  came.  She  has  lived  here  a  great  deal,  and  says 
the  Wallington  ghost  is  a  lady  with  her  head  under  her 
arm,  who  walks  about  at  night.     She  has  heard  all  the 

1  Paulina,  Lady  Trevelyan,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jermyn,  died 
in  1866.  Sir  Walter  married  afterwards  a  Miss  Loft,  and  survived 
till  1879,  but  I  never  saw  him  again. 


76  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

extraordinary  rappings  very  often,  and  says  they  cannot 
be  accounted  for  in  any  way,  but  she  has  never  seen  the 
lady. 

"The  library  here  is  delightful,  full  of  old  topographical 
books  and  pamphlets;  and  sleek  Mr.  Wooster,  with  whites 
of  his  eyes  turned  up  to  the  skies,  is  always  at  hand  to  find 
for  you  anything  you  want. 

"  On  Friday  Sir  Walter  took  me  a  long  drive  through 
the  beautiful  forest-land  called  the  Trench,  and  by  Rothley 
Ciags  to  Netherwitton,  where  the  Raleigh  Trevelyans  live. 
.Mrs.  Raleigh  Trevelyan,  a  stately  and  beautiful  old  lady, 
is  the  direct  descendant  of  the  Witherington  who  fought 
upon  his  stumps.  She  has  pictures  of  Lord  Derwentwater 
and  his  brother,  and  one  of  her  ancestors  concealed  Simon, 
Lord  Lovat,  in  his  house  for  months :  the  closet  where  he 
was  hidden  is  still  to  be  seen,  and  very  curious.  Then  we 
went  to  Long  Witton,  to  Mrs.  Spencer  Trevelyan,  a  great 
botanist  and  eccentric  person,  who  breakfasts  at  six,  dines 
at  twelve,  teas  at  four,  and  goes  to  bed  at  seven  o'clock. 

"  Yesterday  Miss  Ogle  and  I  went  to  Harnham,  where 
Mrs.  Catherine  Babington,  a  famous  Puritan  lady  who  was 
excommunicated,  is  buried  in  the  rock;  to  Shortflat  Tower. 
the  old  peel  castle  of  the  Dents ;  and  to  the  Poind  and  his 
Man,  Druidical  antiquities,  and  Shaftoe  Crag,  a  beautiful 
wild  cliff  overgrown  with  heather.  The  country  round 
this  is  singularly  interesting  —  the  view  from  the  church 
(Cambo),  where  we  have  just  been,  quite  beautiful  over 
the  endless  waves  of  distant  hill." 

"  Warkworth,  Oct.  2.  My  mother  will  like  to  think  of 
me  with  the  Clutterbucks  in  this  charming  sunny  old 
house,  the  most  perfect  contrast  to  Wallington ;  but  if  Sir 
Walter  saw  his  house  papered  and  furnished  like  those  of 
other  people,  he  would  certainly  pine  away  from  excess 
of  luxury.  I  have  spent  two  days  with  the  Ogles,  whom 
we   have    often   met   abroad,    with    their   dark    handsome 


1862] 


WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES 


77 


daughters  —  dark,  people  say,  because  their  grandmother 
was  a  Spaniard.  They  are  proud  of  their  supposed  Spanish 
blood,  and  when  Isabel  Ogle  married  George  Clayton,  all 
her  sisters  followed  in  long  black  lace  veils.  Near  their 
modern  house  is  the  old  moated  family  castle  of  Ogle." 

"  St.  MichaeVs  Vicarage,  Alnwick,  Oct.  4.  I  have  been 
kindly  received  here  by  the  Court  Granvilles :  he  is  a  fiery, 
impetuous  little  man ;  she  (Lady  Charlotte)  a  sister  of  the 


WAEKWORTH,    FROM    THE    COQUET. 


Duke  of  Athole.  The  Duke  of  Northumberland  sent  for 
me  to  his  hot  room  at  the  castle,  where  he  sits  almost 
immovable,  fingers  and  toes  swollen  with  gout,  and  talked 
a  great  deal  about  the  importance  of  my  work,  the  diffi- 
culty of  getting  accurate  information,  &c. :  but  I  do  not 
think  he  heard  a  word  that  I  said  in  reply,  for  when  he 
has  the  gout  he  is  almost  quite  deaf.  Then  he  sent  for 
the  Duchess,  who  good-naturedly  knotted  her  pocket- 
handkerchief  round  her  throat,  and  went  through  all  the 
rooms  to  show  me  the  pictures.     We  went  again  to  dinner 


78  THE   STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

—  only  Sir  Cresswell  Cresswell,  the  famous  judge,  there, 
and  Lady  Alvanley,  sister  of  the  Duke  of  Cleveland.  Sir 
Civsswt'll  was  most  amusing  in  describing  how,  when  a 
Lady  was  being  conveyed  in  a  sedan-chair  to  a  party  at 
Northumberland  House,  the  bottom  fell  out,  and,  as  she 
shouted  in  vain  to  make  her  bearers  hear,  she  was  obliged 
to  run  as  fast  as  she  could  all  the  way  through  the  mire 
inside  the  shell  of  the  chair/' 

11  Blenkinsopp  Castle,  Oct.  11.  This  is  the  castellated 
house  of  the  Coulsons,  in  the  upper  part  of  South  Tyne 
Valley  —  very  large  and  comfortable.  The  owner,  Colonel 
Coulson,  is  a  great  invalid,  and  his  daughter-in-law,  a 
daughter  of  Lord  Byron,  does  the  honours.  We  have 
made  pleasant  excursions  to  Gilsland  Spa,  and  to  Llaner- 
cost  and  Naworth,  the  latter  —  externally  a  magnificent 
feudal  castle  —  the  home  of  Belted  Will  Howard  in  moss- 
trooping  times." 

"  Bamborough  Castle,  Oct.  17.  — How  enchanting  it  is  in 
this  grand  old  castle  looking  out  on  the  sea,  with  all  the 
Fame  Islands  stretched  out  as  on  a  map.  I  think  even 
the  Mediterranean  is  scarcely  such  a  beautiful  sea  as  this, 
the  waves  are  so  enormous  and  have  such  gorgeous  colour- 
ing. I  have  had  delightful  walks  with  the  dear  old  cousin 
on  the  sands,  and  to  Spindleston,  where  the  famous  dragon 
lived." 

"  Winton  Castle,  Tranent,  Oct.  17,  Evening.  As  my 
mother  will  see,  I  have  come  here  for  holidays,  and  shall 
be  glad  of  a  day  or  two  in  which  the  mind  is  not  kept  in 
perpetual  tension.  I  heard  from  Lady  Ruthven  that  I 
\\as  to  meet  Lord  Belhaven  at  Prestonpans  station,  and 
had  no  doubt  which  was  he  —  an  old  gentleman  in  a  white 
hat  with  white  hair  and  hooked  nose.  We  drove  here 
together,  and  very  pleasant  it  was  to  exchange  the  pour- 


1S62J 


WORK  IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES 


79 


ing  rain  without  for  the  large,  low,  old-fashioned  drawing- 
room,  with  a  splendid  ceiling  and  sculptured  chimney, 
thick  Indian  carpets,  and  fine  old  pictures  and  china. 
Soon  Lady  Ruthven  and  Lady  Belhaven  came  in,  calling 
out '  welcome  '  as  they  entered  the  room.  The  other  guests 
are  Lady  Arthur  Lennox  and  her  youngest  daughter,  who 
looks,  as  Lady  Ruthven  says,  '  just  like  a  Watteau;  ' 
also  Lord  Leven,  cousin  of  our  hostess,  and  Miss  Fletcher 
of  Saltoun." 

"  Winton  Castle,  Oct.  20.     When  I  awoke  on  Saturda}^, 
I  was  surprised  to  see  a  fine  old  tower  opposite  my  win- 


WINTOX    CASTLE. 


dows,  with  high  turrets  and  richly-carved  chimneys  and 
windows;  but  the  castle  has  been  miserably  added  to. 
Lady  Ruthven  is  most  original,  with  a  wonderfully  poetical 
mind,  and  is  very  different  from  her  regal-looking  sister, 
Lady  Belhaven,  who,  still  very  handsome,  sweeps  about 


SO  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

the  long  rooms  and  for  whom  k  gracious  '  is  the  only  befit- 
ting expression.  All  the  guests  are  pushed  together  by 
Lady  Ruthven  in  a  way  which  makes  it  impossible  that 
they  should  not  be  intimate.  For  instance,  as  we  went  in 
to  breakfast  on  Saturday,  she  said,  'Now,  Mr.  Hare,  you 
are  to  sit  next  to  Lord  Leven,  for  you  will  not  see  any 
ni( ue  of  him;  so  mind  you  devote  yourselves  to  one 
another  all   breakfast  time.' 

"On  Saturday  we  all  went  to  luncheon  at  Saltoun,  the 
great  jilaee  of  the  neighbourhood,  where  Mr.  Fletcher 
lives,  whose  wife.  Lady  Charlotte,  is  one  of  Lady  Ruthven's 
nieces.  It  is  a  large,  state  1)',  modern  castle,  containing  a 
line  library  and  curious  MSS.  The  tables  were  loaded 
with 'loot'  from  the  Summer  Palace  in  China. 

"  Yesterday  we  all  went  at  twelve  o'clock  to  the  Pres- 
byterian church  at  Pencaitland,  one  of  the  oldest  in 
Scotland.  The  singing  was  beautiful,  and  we  had  an 
admirable  sermon  from  the  minister,  Mr.  Rioch,  who  came 
in  the  evening  and  made  a  very  long  '  exposition  '  to  the 
servants." 

"  Oct.  21.  The  Mount-Edgecumbes  and  I  went  to-day 
with  Lady  Ruthven  to  Gosford  —  her  nephew  Lord 
Wemyss's  place  near  the  sea.  I  walked  for  some  time  in 
the  shrubberies  with  Lady  Mount-Edgecumbe,  till  we  were 
sent  for  into  the  house.  There  we  found  old  Lady  Wemyss 
with  hei'  daughter.  Lady  Louisa  Wells,  and  her  daughter- 
in-law.  Lady  Elcho.  The  last  is  a  celebrated  beauty,  and 
has  been  celebrated  also  for  fulfilling  the  part  of  '  Justice  ' 
in  a  famous  tableau.  In  ordinary  life  she  is  perfectly 
statuesque,  with  a  frigid  manner.  She  was  very  kind, 
however,  and  took  us  over  the  house,  full  of  works  of  art 
of  which  we  had  not  time  to  see  a  tenth  part,  but  there  is 
a  grand  Pordenone." 


.-< 


"North  Berwick,  Oct.  23.     It  has  been  charming  to  be 
here  again  with  dear  Mrs.  Dalzel.   .   .   .   What  a  quaint 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN   COUNTIES  81 

place  it  is.  Formerly  every  one  who  lived  in  North 
Berwick  was  a  Dalrymple:  there  were  nine  families  of 
Dalrymples,  and  seventeen  Miss  Dalrymples,  old  maids: 
the  only  street  in  the  town  was  Quality  Street,  and  all  its 
houses  were  occupied  by  Dalrymples.  North  Berwick 
supported  itself  formerly  upon  its  herring-fishery,  and  it 
is  sadly  conducive  to  strict  Sabbatarianism  that  the  her- 
rings have  totally  disappeared,  and  the  place  become 
poverty-stricken,  since  an  occasion  in  the  spring  when  the 
fishers  went  out  on  a  Sunday." 

'"''King's  Meadows,  Oct.  25.  This  comfortable  house  of 
kind  old  Sir  Adam  Hay  is  close  to  Peebles.  '  As  quiet  as 
Peebles  or  the  grave, '  is  a  proverb.  The  Baillie,  however, 
does  not  think  so.  He  went  to  Paris,  and  when  he  came 
back,  all  his  neighbours  were  longing  to  know  his  impres- 
sions. '  Eh,  it  's  just  a  grand  place,  but  Peebles  for 
pleasure, '  he  said.  Ultra-Sabbatarianism  reigns  supreme. 
An  old  woman's  son  whistled  on  a  Sunday.  '  Eh,  I  could 
just  put  up  wi'  a  wee  swearing,  but  I  canna  thole  whistling 
on  the  Sabbath,'  she  lamented.  Another  woman,  being 
invited  to  have  some  more  at  a  dinner  given  to  some  of 
the  poor,  answered,  '  No,  thank  ye,  miun,  I  won't  have 
any  more,  mum ;  the  sufficiency  that  I  have  had  is  enough 
for  me.'  " 

"  Wishaw  Rouse,  Motherwell,  Oct.  27.  When  I  came 
here,  I  found  Lord  and  Lady  Belhaven  alone,  but  a  large 
party  arrived  soon  afterwards,  who  have  since  been 
admirably  shaken  together  by  their  hostess.  The  place  is 
almost  in  the  Black  Country,  but  is  charming  nevertheless. 
A  rushing  river,  the  Calder,  dashes  through  the  rocky 
glen  below  the  castle,  under  a  tall  ivy-covered  bridge,  and 
through  woods  now  perfectly  gorgeous  with  the  crimson 
and  golden  tints  of  autumn.  Above  on  either  side,  air 
hanging   walks,    and  in   the   depth   of   the   glen  an   old- 

VOL.  II.  6 


82  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1S62 

fashioned  garden  with  a  stone  fountain,  clipped  yew-trees, 

and  Ioiili'  straight  grass  walks. 

"We  have  been  taken  to  Brainseleugh,  a  wonderful 
little  place  belonging  to  Lady  Ruthven —  a  sort  of  Louis 
XIV.  villa,  overhanging  the  river  Avon  by  a  series  of 
quaint  terraces,  with  moss-grown  staircases  and  fountains 

—  more  like  something  at  Albano  than  in  Scotland.  Miss 
Melita  Ponsonby,  Sir  Charles  Cuffe,  and  I  walked  on 
hence  to  the  old  Hamilton  Chase,  full  of  oaks  which  have 
stood  there  since  the  Conquest,  and  part  of  the  forest 
which  once  extended  across  Scotland  from  one  sea  to  the 
other.  It  poured  with  rain,  but  we  reached  the  place 
where  the  eighty  wild  milk-white  cattle  were  feeding 
together.  Then  we  pursued  the  rest  of  the  party  to 
Hamilton  Palace,  which  is  like  a  monster  London  house 

—  Belgrave  Square  covered  in  and  brought  into  the  coun- 
try. There  are  endless  pictures,  amongst  them  an  awful 
representation  of  Daniel  in  an  agony  of  prayer  in  the  lion's 
den.  '  It  is  no  wonder  the  lions  were  afraid  of  him,'  the 
Duchess  of  Hamilton  overheard  one  of  the  crowd  say  as 
they  were  being  shown  round.  In  the  park  is  a  huge 
domed  edifice  something  like  the  tomb  of  Theodoric  at 
Ravenna.  It  was  erected  by  the  last  Duke  for  himself 
his  son,  grandson  and  his  nine  predecessors.  '  What  a 
grand  sight  it  will  be,'  he  said,  '  when  twelve  Dukes  of 
Hamilton  rise  together  here  at  the  Resurrection!  '  He  lies 
himself  just  under  the  dome,  upon  a  pavement  of  coloured 
marbles  and  inside  the  sarcophagus  of  an  Egyptian  queen, 
with  lier  image  painted  and  sculptured  outside.  He  had 
this  sarcophagus  brought  from  Thebes,  and  used  frequently 
to  lie  down  in  it  to  see  how  it  fitted.  It  is  made  of 
Egyptian  syenite,  the  hardest  of  all  stones,  and  could  not 
be  altered ;  but  when  dying  he  was  so  haunted  by  the  idea 
that  his  body  might  be  too  long  to  go  inside  the  queen, 
that  his  last  words  were,  '  Double  me  up!  double  me  up!  ' 
The  last  drive  he  took  had  been  to  buy  spices  for  his  own 


1862]  WORK   IN  NORTHERN    COUNTIES  83 

embalming.  After  he  was  dead,  no  amount  of  doubling 
could  get  him  into  the  mummy-case,  and  they  had  to  cut 
off  his  feet  to  do  it ! 1  The  mausoleum  is  a  most  strange 
place,  and  as  you  enter  mysterious  voices  seem  to  be  whis- 
pering and  clamouring  together  in  the  height  of  the  dome ; 
and  when  the  door  bangs,  it  is  as  if  all  the  demons  in  the 
Inferno  were  let  loose,  and  the  shriekings  and  screamings 
around  you  are  perfectly  terrific.  Beneath  lie  all  the  house 
of  Hamilton  in  their  crimson  coffins,  which  you  survey  by 
the  light  of  a  single  tallow  candle. 

"  Yesterday  I  went  to  Dalzell,  the  old  fortified  house  of 
the  Hamiltons,  and  we  have  also  been  taken  to  the  Falls 
of  the  Clyde  at  Stonebyres,  which  were  magnificent,  the 
river  tossing  wildly  through  woods  which  now  have  all  the 
gorgeous  colouring  of  an  Indian  autumn." 

"Ford  Cottage,  Nov.  5.  This  is  a  charming  little  house, 
nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  castle-hill,  and  it  has  been  an 
amusement  to  Lady  Waterford  to  fit  it  up  temporarily  with 
the  most  interesting  contents  of  the  castle.  The  walls  are 
hung  with  beautiful  pictures  and  the  rooms  furnished  with 
ivory  and  ebony  cabinets,  quantities  of  old  china,  tall 
glasses  piled  with  ferns  and  flowers,  old-fashioned  tables 
and  deep  velvet  arm-chairs.  She  will  be  here  for  another 
year  probably,  and  thoroughly  enjoys  the  life,  saying  that 
she  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  garden  before. 

"Dear  old  Lady  Stuart  is  here  in  her  deep  mourning, 
and  Lady  Waterford,  now  her  only  remaining  child,  has 
been  more  closely  united  to  her  mother  than  ever  since 
Lady  Canning's  death.2 

1  1888.  —  Alas  that  I  should  have  to  add  a  note  to  say  that  the 
mummy-case  has  been  since  discovered  not  to  have  belonged  to  a 
queen  at  all,  but  to  the  court-jester ! 

2  Charlotte,  eldest  daughter  of  Lord  Stuart  de  Rothesay,  married 
(1835)  Charles  John,  afterwards  Viscount  and  Earl  Canning  and 
Governor-General  of  India,  and  died  at  Calcutta,  Nov.  18,  1861. 


84 


THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1862 


"Lady  Waterford  is  indeed  perfectly  delightful  —  brim- 
ming with  originality  and  enthusiasm,  and  with  the  power 
—  which  so  few  people  have  —  of  putting  all  her  wonder- 
fully poetical  thoughts  into  words,  and  so  letting  others 
have  tin'  benefit  of  them.  Sometimes  she  will  sit  down  to 
the  pianoforte  and  sing  in  the  most  thrilling  way —  Handel 
or  Iieethoven,  or  old  Spanish  ballads  —  without  having  the 
music  or  words  before  her.     At  others  she  will  draw,  sud- 


TIIi:    CHEVIOTS,    FROM    FORD.1 


denly  and  at  once,  the  beautiful  inspirations  which  come 
to  her.  Last  night  it  was  a  lovely  child  crowned  and 
sporting  with  flowers,  and  four  other  sweet  little  maidens 
dancing  round  her  with  garlands;  it  was  from  the  child- 
hood of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  and  her  four  Maries.  She  is 
never  tired  of  hearing  of  people ;  she  says  she  sees  so  few 

1  From  "The  Story  of  Two  Noble  Lives." 


1862]  WORK   IN   NORTHERN    COUNTIES  85 

and  knows  so  little  of  them  now  —  places  she  does  not 
care  to  hear  about. 

"In  the  afternoon  we  went  up  to  the  castle,  which  is 
entirely  changed  since  I  saw  it  last,  having  gone  back 
from  a  gingerbread  gothic  house  to  the  appearance  of  an 
ancient  building.  The  drawing-room  is  beautiful,  with  its 
ceiling  and  ornaments  copied  from  that  at  Winton.  Lord 
Durham  was  drilling  his  volunteer  corps  before  the  castle, 
and  a  mock  siege  was  got  up,  with  a  storming  of  the  new 
bridge  over  the  dene.  Then  we  walked  to  a  new  lodge 
which  is  building.  All  around  are  improvements  —  church 
restored,  schools  built,  cottages  renewed,  gardens  made, 
and  then  the  castle." 

"  Nov.  5  (Evening).  The  hard  frost  last  night  preluded 
a  bright  beautiful  day.  Lady  Waterford  let  me  have  the 
pony-carriage  with  two  white  ponies  to  go  where  I  liked, 
and  I  went  to  a  ruined  peel  at  Howtell  Grange,  and  then 
through  hollows  in  the  Cheviots  to  Kirk-Newton,  where 
Paulinus  baptized  his  Northumbrian  converts.  '  Oh!  if 
my  Lady  were  only  here,  for  it  is  quite  lovely ! '  exclaimed 
the  coachman,  as  we  turned  the  corner  of  the  mountains. 
He  told  me  about  Lord  Waterford's  death,  how  he  was 
riding  by  his  side,  over  the  mountain  when  his  horse 
stumbled.  He  got  up  safely,  and  then  somehow  over- 
balanced himself  and  fell  from  the  saddle  upon  his  head. 
They  could  not  believe  that  he  was  hurt  at  first,  for  he  lay 
in  his  hunting-coat  unbruised  and  beautiful;  but  when 
they  raised  him  up,  his  head  fell  down,  for  his  neck  was 
broken  and  he  was  dead.  '  Then  there  was  an  awful  wail, ' 
said  the  man,  '  though  we  could  none  of  us  believe  it. 
Dr.  Jephson  rode  on  to  break  it  to  my  Lady,  and  he  met 
her  driving  her  two  white  ponies  up  to  the  door,  all  gay 
and  happy,  and  told  her  at  first  that  my  Lord  had  broken 
his  thigh-bone  and  was  very  much  hurt;  but  she  saw  by 
his  face  that  it  was  worse  than  that,  and  said  so,  and  he 


SG  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1862 

could  not  speak  to  her.  Then  she  went  away  to  her  own 
room   and   Locked  herself  in.     When  my  Lord  had  been 

brought  home  and  night  came  on,  she  ordered  every  one 
away  from  her,  and  she  looked  on  his  lace  once  more,  but 
what  my  Lady  did  that  night  we  none  of  US  knew.' 

'"She  cannot  bear  a  horse  now:  she  has  only  this  little 
pony-carriage. 

"This  afternoon  J  have  been  with  her  to  her  school. 
She  is  covering  it  with  large  pictures  which  have  the  effect 
of  frescoes.  All  the  subjects  are  Bible  stories  from  the 
lives  of  good  children.  In  the  first,  of  Cain  and  Abel,  the 
devout  Abel  is  earnestly  offering  his  sacrifice  of  the  lamb; 
while  careless  Cain,  attracted  by  the  flight  of  some  pigeons, 
looks  away  and  lets  his  apples  fall  from  the  altar.  All  the 
children  are  portraits,  and  it  was  interesting  to  see  the 
originals  sitting  beneath  the  frescoes,  slates  and  pencils  in 
hand. 

"  1 1  seems  to  me  as  if  Lady  Waterford  had  become 
strangely  spiritualised  this  year  since  Lady  Canning's 
death.  She  is  just  what  she  herself  describes  Miss  Boyle 
to  have  become,  '  A  calm  seeker  after  good,  in  whatever 
way  she  may  find  it.'  v 

"  Falloden,  Nov.  7,  1862.  I  have  been  most  kindly 
received  by  Sir  George  and  Lady  Grey.  .  .  .  He  has  the 
reputation  of  being  the  most  agreeable  '  gentleman  '  in 
England,  and  certainly  is  charming,  so  cordial  and  kind 
and  winning  in  manner.  .  .  .  We  have  been  this  evening 
to  Dunstanborough  —  most  lovely,  the  tall  tower  in  the 
evening  light  rising  rosy-pink  against  a  blue  sea." 

"Boddam,  Nov.  13.  I  have  been  with  Mrs.  Roddam  at 
Eslington,  a  large  grey  stone  house  on  a  terrace,  with  a 
French  garden  and  fine  trees.     Hedworth  Liddell  received 

ns.  and  then  his  many  sisters  came  trooping  in  to  luncheon 
from  walking  and  driving.     '  We  are  sure  this  is  our  cousin 


1862]  WORK  IN  NORTHERN   COUNTIES  87 

Augustus  Hare:  we  saw  you  through  the  window,  and 
were  sure  it  was  you,  you  are  so  like  your  sister. '  .  .  . 
They  were  much  amused  at  my  delight  over  the  portraits 
of  our  ancestors." 

"  Chillingham,  Nov.  14.  There  is  a  large  party  here, 
including  Captain  and  Mrs.  Northcote,  a  very  handsome, 
distinguished-looking  young  couple,  and  my  hitherto  un- 
known cousins,  Lord  and  Lady  Durham.1  He  has  a 
morose  look,  which  does  him  great  injustice;  she  is  one 
of  Lord  Abercorn's  charming  daughters  —  excessively 
pretty,  natural,  and  winning." 

"Nov.  15.  Each  evening  we  have  had  impromptu 
charades,  in  which  Lord  Durham  acts  capitally.  Yester- 
day we  went  to  a  review  of  his  volunteer  corps  on  Millfield 
Plain,  and  afterwards  to  tea  at  Copeland  Castle,  an  old 
Border  fortress  on  the  Till,  which  the  Durhams  are  rent- 
ing. You  would  be  quite  fascinated  by  Lady  Durham  — 
'  the  little  Countess, '  as  Lady  Tankerville  calls  her.  Lord 
Durham  does  not  look  a  bit  older  than  I,  though  he  has 
seven  children.  They  have  given  me  a  very  cordial  invita- 
tion to  stay  with  them." 

"Morpeth,  Nov.  16.  We  dispersed  yesterday  evening. 
Lord  Tankerville  wished  me  to  have  stayed,  and  it  was 
very  pleasant  at  the  end  of  an  enchanting  visit  to  have 
one's  host  say,  '  I  am  so  very  sorry  you  are  going;  and, 
though  the  Greys  are  very  nice  people,  I  quite  hate  them 
for  taking  you  away  from  us. '  They  sent  me  in  one  car- 
riage, and  my  luggage  in  another,  to  meet  the  coach  at 
Lilburn.  I  had  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  wait,  and 
took  refuge  in  a  shepherd's  hut,  where  the  wife  was  very 
busy  washing  all  her  little  golden-haired  children  in  tubs, 
and  putting  them  to  sleep  in  box-beds." 

1  His  great-grandmother,  Lady  Susan  Lyon  and  my  great-grand- 
mother, Lady  Anne,  were  sisters. 


88  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1862 

"Morpeth,  Nov.  19.  On  Monday  I  got  up  in  pitch  dark- 
ness and  went  off  at  half-past  seven  by  coach  to  Rothbnrv, 
a  lonely  little  town  amid  moorland  hills  with  sweeping 
blue  distance.  There  I  got  a  gig,  and  went  far  up  Coquet- 
dale  to  Harbottle,  a  most  interesting  country,  full  of  peel 
towers  and  wild  rocky  valleys.  Coming  back,  I  stopped 
at  Holystone,  where  a  tall  cross  and  an  old  statue  near  a 
basin  of  transparent  water  mark  the  place  where  Paulinus 
baptized  three  thousand  Northumbrians.  Then,  in  the 
gloaming,  I  saw  the  fine  old  Abbey  of  Brinkburn,  close 
upon  the  shore  of  Coquet,  celebrated  in  many  old  angling 
songs. 

"  To-day  I  have  been  with  the  Greys  to  Cresswell,  the 
largest  modern  house  in  the  county,  with  an  old  peel  tower 
where  an  ancestress  of  the  family  starved  herself  to  death 
after  seeing-  her  three  brothers  murder  her  Danish  lover 
upon  the  shore." 

Several  more  visits  brought  me  home  at  the  end 
of  November,  with  an  immense  stock  of  new  mate- 
rial, which  I  arranged  in  the  next  few  months  in 
••  Murray's  Handbook  of  Durham  and  Northumber- 
land" —  work  for  which  neither  Murray  nor  any 
one  else  gave  me  much  credit,  but  which  cost 
me  great  labour,  and  into  which  I  put  my  whole 
heart. 


XI 

HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER 

"  Golden  years 
Of  service  and  of  hope  swept  over  us 
Most  sweetly.     Brighter  grew  our  home,  more  dear 
Our  daily  life  together.     And  as  time  went  by, 
God  daily  joined  our  hearts  more  perfectly." 

—  B.  M. 

"Look  at  a  pious  person,  man  or  woman,  one  in  whom  the  spirit 
aways  the  senses ;  look  at  them  when  they  are  praying  or  have  risen 
from  their  knees,  and  see  with  how  bright  a  ray  of  divine  beauty 
their  faces  are  illuminated :  you  will  see  the  beauty  of  God  shine 
on  their  faces :  you  will  see  the  beauty  of  an  angel.  All  those  who 
in  adoring  humility  partake  of  the  Holy  Sacraments  are  so  united  to 
God  that  the  presence  of  the  divine  light  is  manifest  upon  their 
faces.  —  Savonarola,  Sermons. 

"  God 's  in  his  heaven  — 
All 's  right  with  the  world." 

—  Browning,  Pippa  Passes. 

When  I  returned  from  the  North  in  the  winter 
of  1862-63,  I  was  shocked  to  find  how  much  a 
failure  of  power,  which  I  had  faintly  traced  in  the 
summer,  had  increased  in  my  dearest  mother.  But 
I  cannot  describe  the  unspeakable  thankfulness  I  felt 
that  the  work  which  had  taken  me  so  much  away 
from  her  during  her  four  years  of  health  was  ended 
just  when  she  needed  me ;  that  it  would  never  be 
absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  leave  her  again ;  and 


90  THE  STORY  OF  MY  LIFE  [1863 

I  inwardly  vowed  never  again  to  undertake  anything 
which  should  separate  me  from  her.  Some  work 
which  might  be  done  at  home  would  doubtless  turn 
up,  and  mean  while,  I  had  constant  employment  in 
the  service  and  watchings  which  scarcely  ever 
permitted  me  to  be  away  from  her  side. 

Meanwhile  all  the  sympathy  which  I  had  to  spare 
fn  >m  the  sick-room  at  home  was  called  forth  by  the 
suffering  of  my  sister,  who  had  struggled  bravely 
under  the  depression  of  her  mother's  ceaseless  despair 
and  wilful  refusal  to  be  comforted,  but  upon  whom 
that  struggle  was  beginning  to  tell  most  severely. 
My  mother  allowed  me  to  have  her  at  Holmhurst 
a  great  deal  this  winter,  and  she  was  no  trouble, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  a  constant  source  of  interest  to 
my  mother,  who,  while  deprecating  the  fact  of  her 
Roman  Catholicism,  became  full  of  respect  for  her 
simple  faith,  large-hearted  charity,  and  reality  of 
true  religion  —  so  different  from  that  of  most  per- 
verts from  the  national  faith  of  England.  In  her 
changed  fortunes,  accustomed  to  every  luxury  as  she 
had  been,  she  would  only  see  the  silver  linings  of 
all  her  clouds,  truly  and  simply  responding  to 
Thackeray's  advice  — 

"  Come  wealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 
Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 
And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart." 

At  Christmas  my  mother  suffered  terribly,  and 
was  so  liable  to  a  sudden  numbness  which  closely 
threatened  paralysis,  that  by  day  and  night  remedies 
had    always  to  be  prepared  and  at  hand.      In   the 


1863]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  91 

last  days  of  January  she  was  moved  to  London,  and 
immediately  felt  benefited ;  but  the  doctors  who 
then  saw  my  mother  agreed  with  our  old  friend 
Dr.  Hale  at  St.  Leonards  that  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  she  should  go  abroad.  This  gave  rise 
to  terrible  anxiety.  I  remember  how  then,  as  on 
many  other  occasions  when  I  was  longing  to  stay  at 
home,  but  felt  certain  the  path  of  duty  lay  abroad, 
all  my  difficulties  were  enormously  added  to  by 
different  members  of  the  family  insisting  that  my 
mother  ought  to  stay  at  home,  and  that  I  knew  it, 
but  "  dragged  her  abroad  for  my  own  pleasure  and 
convenience."  This  tenfold  increased  my  fatigue 
when  I  was  already  at  the  last  gasp,  by  compelling 
me  to  argue  persistently  to  misinformed  persons  in 
favour  of  my  convictions,  against  my  wishes.  On 
February  16  we  left  home,  and  went  by  slow  stages 
to  Hyeres,  whence  we  proceeded  to  Nice. 

To  my  Sister. 

"  Pension  Bivoir,  Nice,  March  16,  1863.  We  stayed  at 
Hyeres  ten  days,  but  did  not  like  the  place  at  all,  though 
it  has  a  tropical  vegetation,  and  there  are  pretty  corkwoods 
behind  it.  The  town  is  a  prolonged  village,  clouded  with 
dust  and  reeking  with  evil  odours.  .  .  .  We  took  a  vet- 
turino  from  Les  Arcs  to  Cannes,  but  found  prices  there 
so  enormously  raised,  that  we  decided  on  coming  on  here. 
This  place  also  is  very  full,  but  we  like  our  tiny  apartment, 
which  has  the  sea  on  one  side,  and  a  beautiful  view  across 
orange-groves  to  the  snow  mountains  on  the  other.  The 
mother  already  seems  not  only  better  but  —  quite  well ! 
We  have  found  a  great  many  friends  here,  including 
Sir  Adam  Hay  and  all  his   family,  and  Lord  and  Lady 


92 


THE  STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1863 


Charles  Clinton,  the  latter  charming  and  most  affection- 
ate' ly  attentive  to  the  mother." 

The  spring  Ave  spent  at  Nice  is  one  of  those  I 
look  back  upon  with  the  greatest  pleasure  —  my 
mother  recovered  so  rapidly  and  entirely,  and  was 
so  pleased  herself  with  her  own  recovery.  The 
weather  was  beautiful,  and  as  I  was  already  in  heart 
looking  forward  to  drawing  as  the  one  lucrative 
employment  which  would  not  separate  me  from  my 


CARROZZA.1 


mother,  I  devoted  myself  to  it  most  enthusiastically, 
inwardly  determined  to  struggle  to  get  a  power  of 
colour  which  should  distinguish  me  from  the  herd 
of  sketchers  and  washers,  and  I  made  real  progress 
in  knowledge  and  delicacy.  It  was  the  greatest 
help  to  me  in  this,  as  it  was  the  greatest  pleasure 
in    everything   else,   to   have   our    dear    old    friend 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


1863]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  93 

Lady  Grey  with  her  niece  Miss  cles  Voeux  settled 
close  by  us,  and  I  constantly  drew  and  made  excur- 
sions with  them,  dining  with  them  afterwards :  my 
only  difficulty  being  that  my  mother  was  then  often 
left  alone  longer  than  I  liked,  with  only  Lea  as  a 
companion.  During  the  close  of  our  stay  I  had  some 
really  adventurous  expeditions  with  Miss  Des  Voeux, 
Mrs.  Robert  Elice,  and  Miss  Elice  along  the  bed  of 
the  Var  and  up  Mount  Chauve  and  to  Aspromonte ; 
with  Miss  Des  Voeux  and  the  Stepneys  to  Carrozza 
and  Le  Broc,  proceeding  with  the  carriage  as  far  as 
it  would  go,  and  then  on  chairs  lashed  upon  a  bul- 
lock-cart —  the  scenery  most  magnificent ;  and  with 
a  larger  party  to  the  glorious  Peglione. 

Acldie  Hay  was  often  the  companion  of  our  excur- 
sions, and  deeply  attached  himself  to  the  mother, 
sitting  by  us  for  hours,  while  we  drew  at  Villeneuve 
or  other  mountain  villages.  His  sister  Ida  did  the 
honours  at  splendid  parties  which  were  given  by 
Mr.  Peabody  the  philanthropist,  so  I  was  invited  to 
them.  Mr.  George  Peabody  —  "Uncle  George,"  as 
Americans  used  to  call  him  —  was  one  of  the  dullest 
men  in  the  world :  he  had  positively  no  gift  except 
that  of  making  money,  and  when  he  was  making 
it,  he  never  parted  with  a  penny  until  he  had  made 
hundreds  of  thousands,  and  then  he  gave  vast  sums 
away  in  charity.  When  he  had  thus  become  quite 
celebrated,  he  went  back  to  America,  and  visited  his 
native  place  of  Danvers,  which  is  now  called  Peabody. 
Here  some  of  his  relations,  who  were  quite  poor 
people,  wishing  to  do  him  honour,  borrowed  a  silver 
tea  service  from  a  neighbour.     He  partook  of  their 


94  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [18G3 

feast,  and,  when  it  was  over,  he  looked  round  and 
said,  "I  am  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  you 
are  in  such  very  good  circumstances  as  to  Avant 
nothing  that  I  could  do  for  you,"  —  and  he  did 
nothing  for  them. 

There  was,  however,  at  least  one  very  interesting 
story  connected  with  George  Peabody's  life.  He  was 
going  to  Berlin  for  some  important  financial  meeting, 
in  which  he  was  to  take  a  prominent  part.  On  the 
way  his  carriage  broke  down,  and  he  was  in  despair 
as  to  how  he  was  to  get  on,  when  a  solitary  traveller 
passed  in  a  carriage  and  offered  to  take  him  up. 
Soon  they  began  to  converse.  "  I  had  a  remarkably 
good  dinner  to-night,"  said  George  Peabody ;  "  guess 
what  it  was."  —  "  Well,  I  guess  a  good  turkey."  — 
"  Better  than  that,"  said  Peabody,  slapping  his 
companion  on  the  knee.  "  Well,  a  piece  of  Welsh 
mutton."  —  "Better  than  that,"  with  another  slap; 
"  why,  I  've  had  a  prime  haunch  of  venison  from  a 
Scotch  forest."  Soon  they  were  approaching  Berlin, 
and  every  one  saluted  the  carriage  as  it  passed. 
••May  I  ask  to  whom  I  am  so  much  indebted  for 
my  drive?"  said  Peabody.  "Well,  guess,"  said  his 
companion,  as  they  were  passing  some  soldiers  who 
saluted.  "Well,  I  guess  you're  a  captain  in  the 
arnn-."  — "  Better  than  that,"  said  the  stranger, 
slapping  Peabody  on  the  knee.  "Well,  perhaps 
you  're  a  general."  —  "  Better  than  that,"  with  an- 
other slap.  "  Well,  Sir,  I  am  —  the  Crown  Prince  of 
Prussia." 

At  Mr.  Peabody's  parties  I  always  used  to  see  the 
old  King  Louis  of  Bavaria,  then  a  dirty,  dissipated 


1863]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  95 

old  man,  though  Munich  will  ever  bear  witness  to 
the  great  intelligence  he  showed  in  early  life. 

At  dinner  at  Lady  Grey's  I  used  to  meet  Dr. 
Pantaleone,  who  was  then  practising  at  Nice  as  a 
Roman  exile.  Here  are  some  fragments  of  his 
ever-amusing  conversation :  — 

"  What  is  gout,  Dr.  Pantaleone  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  Clerici  Canonici  do  say  it  is  the  divil,  and 
the  doctors  do  say  it  is  in  the  nerves,  and  the  statesmen 
do  say  it  is  Lord  Palmerston  or  Lord  John  Russell,  as  the 
case  may  be  !  " 

"Have  you  studied  the  subject  much?" 

"  Ah,  yes !  oh,  it  is  beautiful  to  follow  the  gout.  But 
I  have  felt  it  too,  for  my  grandfather  he  did  eat  up  all  his 
fortune  and  leave  us  the  gout,  and  that  is  what  I  do  call 
cheating-  his  heirs  !  " 

"  I  have  never  had  gout,  but  I  have  had  rheumatism." 

"  Ah,  3-es ;  rheumatism  is  gout's  brother." 


"Why  is  Mr.  B.  in  love  with  Miss  M.?" 

"  Why,  you  see  it  is  an  ugly  picture,  but  is  beautiful 
encadn'.  She  has  £1500  a  vear  —  that  is  the  cadre,  and 
the  husband  will  just  step  into  the  frame  and  throw  the 
old  picture  into  the  shade  ! " 


"  They  seem  to  be  giving  up  the  Bishops  in  Piedmont." 
"  Yes,  but  they  must  not  do  it :   it  is  no  longer  wise. 
With  us  all  is  habit.     We  have  now  even  been  excom- 
municated for  three  years,  and  as  we  find  we  do  as  well 
or  rather  better  than  before,  we  do  not  mind  a  bit." 


"I  have  often  been  miserable  when  I  have  lost  a  patient, 
and  then  I  have  cursed  myself  for  wasting  my  time  and 
sympathy  when  I   have    seen  that  the   relations   did   not 


90  THE  STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1SG3 

mind.      It    is   always  thus.       Thus   it  was   in    that    dreadful 

time  when  the  Borghese  lost  his  wife  and  three  children. 
1  was  so  grieved  I  could  not  go  near  the  Prince.  Some 
days  afterwards  I  met  him  in  the  garden.  'Oh,  M.  le 
Prince,'  I  said,  'how  I  have  felt  for  you!'  —  'Dr.  Panta- 
leone,'  he  replied,  kif  I  could  have  them  hack  again  now  I 
would  not.  for  it  was  the  will  of  God,  and  now  I  know 
that  they  are  happy. '  Then  1  did  CUTSe  myself.  '  All.  yes, 
you  are  quite  right,  M.  le  Prince,'  I  said,  and  I  did  go 
away,  and  I  never  did  offer  condolences  any  more." 


"Do  you  know  Courmayeur?" 

"  Yes.  that  is  where  our  King  (Victor  Emmanuel)  goes 
when  he  wants  to  hunt.  And  when  Azeglio  wants  the 
King  hack,  he  writes  to  his  ministers,  'The  tyrant  wants 
to  amuse  himself '  —  because  his  enemies  do  call  him 
the  tyrant." 


'•It  is  a  dreadful  thing  not  to  remember.  I  had  a 
friend  once  who  married  an  Italian  lady.  One  day  they 
were  at  a  [(arty,  and  he  went  out  in  the  course  of  the 
evening.  Nothing  was  thought  of  it  at  the  time;  Italians 
often  do  go  out.  At  last  his  wife  became  excited  — 
agitated.  They  tried  to  calm  her,  but  she  thought  he 
had  posed  her  there  and  gone  away  and  left  her  for  ever. 
She  flew  home,  and  there  he  was  comfortably  seated  by 
his  fireside.  'Oh,  Tommaso,  Tommaso!'  she  exclaimed. 
'Che.  (die!'  he  said.  'Oh,  why  did  you  leave  me?'  she 
cried.  'Oh,'  said  he,  striking  his  forehead,  'I  did  forget 
that  I  was  married  ! '  "  x 


"There  was  a  poor  woman  whose  son  was  dreadfully 
ill,  and  she  wanted  to  get  him  a  doctor;   but  somehow, 

1  The  celebrated  Porson  was  given  to  such  utter  fits  of  absence 
thai  he  forgot  he  was  married  and  dined  out  on  the  very  day  of  the 
ceremony. 


18(53]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  97 

instead  of  going  for  the  doctor,  she  fell  asleep,  and  dreamt 
that  her  son  was  ill,  and  that  she  was  going  for  the  doctor. 
She  went  first  (in  her  dream)  to  the  house  of  the  first 
physician  in  the  town,  but,  when  she  arrived,  the  door  was 
crowded  with  a  number  of  pale  beings,  who  were  congre- 
gating round  it,  and  calling  out  to  those  within.  So  the 
woman  asked  them  what  they  were,  and  they  said,  '  We 
are  the  spirits  of  those  who  have  been  killed  by  the 
treatment  of  this  doctor,  and  we  are  come  to  make  him 
our  reproaches.'  So  the  woman  was  horrified,  and  hurried 
away  to  the  house  of  another  doctor,  but  there  she  found 
even  more  souls  than  before ;  and  at  each  house  she  went 
to,  there  were  more  and  more  souls  who  complained  of  the 
doctors  who  had  killed  them.  At  last  she  came  to  the 
house  of  a  very  poor  little  doctor  who  lived  in  a  cottage  in 
a  very  narrow  dirty  street,  and  there  there  were  only  two 
souls  lamenting.  '  Ah ! '  she  said,  '  this  is  the  doctor  for  me  ; 
for  while  the  others  have  killed  so  many,  this  good  man  in 
all  the  course  of  his  experience  has  only  sent  two  souls 
out  of  the  world.'  So  she  went  in  and  said,  '  Sir,  I  have 
come  to  you  because  of  your  experience,  because  of  your 
great  and  just  reputation,  to  ask  you  to  heal  my  son.'  As 
she  talked  of  his  great  reputation  the  doctor  looked  rather 
surprised,  and  at  last  he  said,  '  Well,  Madam,  it  is  very  flat- 
tering, but  it  is  odd  that  you  should  have  heard  so  much 
of  me,  for  I  have  only  been  a  doctor  a  vnek?  Ah !  then 
you  may  imagine  what  the  horror  of  the  woman  was  —  he 
had  only  been  a  doctor  a  week,  and  yet  he  had  killed  two 
persons !  ...  So  she  awoke,  and  she  did  not  go  for  a 
doctor  at  all,  and  her  son  got  perfectly  well." 

In  May  we  went  to  spend  a  week  at  Mentone, 
seeing  old  haunts  and  old  friends ;  thence  also  I 
went  for  three  days  with  Lady  Grey  to  S.  Remo, 
where  we   drew   a   great    deal,   but   I   did   not   then 

vol.  ii.  —  7 


98 


THE   BTOR?    OF   MY    LIFE 


[1863 


great U  admire  S.  Remo.  We  stayed  a  few  days  at 
Aries,  where  M.  and  Madame  Pinus,  the  Landlord  of 
the  Hotel  du  Nord  and  his  wife,  had  become  quite 

intimate  friends  In  dint  of  repeated  visits.  Each 
time  we  stayed  at  Aries  we  made  some  delightful 
excursions:  this  time  we  went  to  S.  Gilles.  Then  by 
a  lingering  journey,  after  our  fashion  of  the  mother's 
well-days,  loitering  to  see  Valence  and  Rocheniaure, 


ROMAN    THEATRIC.     ARLES.1 


we  reached  Geneva,  where  we  had  much  kindly  hos- 
pitality from  the  family  of  the  Swiss  pasteur  Vaucher, 
with  whose  charming  daughter  we  had  heroine  great 
friends  at  Mentone  two  years  before.  We  were 
afterwards  very  happy  for  a  fortnight  in  the  pleasant 
Pension  Baumgarten  at  Thun,  and  went  in  einspanners 
in  glorious  weather  to  Lauterhrunnen  and  Grindel- 
wald.  On  our  way  north,  we  lingered  at  Troyes.  and 
1  From  «  South-Eastern  France." 


1863J 


HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER 


99 


I  also  made  a  most  interesting  excursion  from  Abbe- 
ville to  St.  Riquier  and  the  battlefield  of  Crecy, 
where  the  old  tower  from  which  Edward  III.  watched 
the  battle  still  stood,1  and  the  cross  where  the  blind 
King  of  Bohemia  fell  amid  the  corn-lands. 

It  was  the   9th  of   June  when  we  reached  Holni- 
hurst,  and  on  the  15th  I  went  to  Arthur  Stanley's 


HOTEL    DU    MAUROT    TROTES/ 


house  at  Oxford  for  the  Commemoration;,  at  which 
the  lately  married  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  were 
present,  she  charming  all  who  met  her  as  much  by 
her  simplicity  as  by  her  grace  and  loveliness.     "  No 

1  Now  (1805)  pulled  down. 

2  From  "  North-Eastern  France." 


100 


THE    STOKV    OF    MY    LIFE 


[is.;:; 


more  fascinating  and  lovely  creature."  said  Arthur, 
••ever  appeared  in  a  fairy-story."  Mrs.  Gladstone 
was  at  the  ( -anonry  and  made  herself  very  pleasant 
to  everybody.  "  Your  Princess  is  so  lovely,  it  is 
quite  a  pleasure  to  be  in  the  room  with  her.'1  I  heard 
her  say  to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  "Yes,  she  really  is 
very  pretty,"  he  replied. 

Afterwards  1    went  to  stay  with  Miss  Boyle,  who 
had  lately  been  "  revived,"  and  it  was  a  most  curious 


THE    KING    OF    BOIIKMIa's    CHO&S.   CRECY.1 

visit.  Beautiful  still,  but  very  odd,  she  often  made; 
one  think  of  old  Lady  Stuart  de  Rothesay's  descrip- 
tion of  her  —  "  Fille  de  Venus  et  de  Polichinelle." 

To  my  Mother. 

"  Portishcad,  June  27,  1863.  Miss  Boyle  is  quite  brim- 
ming with  religion,  and,  as  I  expected,  entirely  engrossed 
by  her  works.  She  preaches  now  almost  every  night. 
She  began  a  sort  of  convertive  talking  instantly.  She 
asked  at  once,  'Are  you  saved?'  &c.  She  seems  to  have 
in  everything  '  une  grancle  liberty  avec  Dieu,'  as  Madame 
de  Glapion  said  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.      She  thinks 

1  From  "North-Eastern  France." 


1863]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  101 

Arthur  an  infidel,  and  said  that  there  had  been  a  meeting 
of  six  thousand  people  at  Bristol  to  pray  that  his  influence 
at  Court  may  be  counteracted.  Speaking  of  this,  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  she  had  up  the  servants  and  prayed 
for  '  our  poor  Queen,  who  is  in  ignorance  of  all  these 
things.'  Then,  at  great  length,  for  me,  '  Thy  child  and 
servant  who  is  just  come  into  this  house.'  She  said  she 
had  put  off  her  meeting  for  the  next  day  on  my  account, 
but  I  begged  that  she  would  hold  it,  even  though  the  bills 
were  not  sent  out. 

"  On  Friday  she  did  not  appear  till  one.  We  dined  at 
three,  and  then  an  '  Evangelist '  came  in,  who  also  asked 
at  once  'if  I  was  saved,'  and  then  knelt  down  and  made 
a  long  prayer,  k  O  God,  I  thank  Thee  that  I  am  a  saved 
sinner,'  with  a  sort  of  litany  of  '  Yes,  bless  the  Lord,'  from 
Miss  Boyle.  Then  I  was  prayed  for  again:  it  felt  very 
odd. 

"  Then  we  went  off  in  a  fly,  with  one  of  the  maids  and 
another  Evangelist  called  Mr.  Grub,  a  long  drive  through 
a  series  of  country  lanes  to  solitary  farm-houses  amongst 
the  hills.  It  was  like  the  description  in  '  The  Minister's 
Wooing.'  At  one  of  the  houses  a  young  woman  came  out 
and  said  to  me  that  she  '  hoped  we  were  one  in  Christ.' 

"  From  a  turn  of  the  road  I  walked  down  to  Pill,  the 
rude  town  on  the  Avon  where  Miss  Boyle  preaches  almost 
every  evening  to  the  wharfingers  and  sailors,  nearly  two 
hundred  at  a  time.  I  saw  her  pulpit  in  the  open  air  close 
to  the  river,  with  the  broad  reaches  of  the  Channel  and 
ships  sailing  in  behind  it.  When  she  preaches  there  it 
must  be  a  very  striking  scene.  Numbers  of  people  crowded 
round  to  ask  —  '  Isna  Lady  Boyle  a-cooming  down7' 
and  all  the  little  children,  k  Is  Lady  Boyle  a-cooming  ? 
Tell  us.  Mister,  where  's  Lady  Boyle  ? ' 

"  When  we  returned  to  the  other  village,  St.  George's, 
Miss  Boyle  and  her  maid  were  sitting  on  a  well  in  an  old 
farmhouse  garden,  singing  beautiful   revival   hymns  to  a 


102  THE    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  Ll's,i:! 

tronp  of  mothers  and  Little  children,  who  listened  with 
delight.  As  the  crowd  gathered,  she  came  down,  and 
standing  with  her  hack  against  the  fly,  beneath  sonic  old 
trees  in  the  Little  market-place,  addressed  the  people. 
Then  Miss  Boyle  prayed;  then  the  Evangelist  preached. 
Then  came  some  revival  hymns  from  Dick  Weaver's  hymn- 
book.  The  people  joined  eagerly,  and  the  singing  was 
Lovely  —  wild,  picturesque  choruses,  constantly  swelled  by 
new  groups  dropping  in.  People  came  up  the  little  lanes 
and  alleys,  listening  and  singing.  (ireat  waggons  and 
Luggage-vans  passing  on  the  highroad  kept  stopping,  and 
the  carters  and  drivers  joined  in  the  song.  At  last  Miss 
Boyle  herself  preached  —  most  strikingly,  and  her  voice;, 
like  a  clarion,  must  have  been  audible  all  over  the  village. 
She  preached  oil  the  ten  lepers,  and  words  never  seemed  to 
tail  her,  but  she  poured  out  an  unceasing  stream  of  elo- 
quence, entreating,  warning,  exhorting,  comforting,  and 
illustrating  by  anecdotes  she  had  heard  and  from  the  ex- 
periem  es  of  her  own  life.  The  people  listened  in  rapt 
attention,  but  towards  the  end  of  her  discourse  a  quantity 
of  guns  and  crackers  were  let  off  (dose  by  by  agents  of  a 
hostile  clergyman  (Vicar  of  Portbury),  and  a  fiddle  inter- 
rupted the  soft  cadences  of  the  singing.  On  this  she 
prayed  aloud  for  'the  poor  unconverted  clergyman,  that 
God  would  forgive  him,"  but  when  she  had  done,  the 
people  sang  one  of  Weaver's  hymns,  '  He  is  hurrying  --  he 
is  hurrying — lie  is  hurrying  down  to  hell.'  Some  of  the 
clergy  uphold  her,  others  oppose.  She  has  had  a  regular 
tight  with  this  one.  The  meeting  was  not  over  till  past 
nine;  sometimes  it  lasts  till  eleven.  The  people  did  not 
seem  a  bit  tired:    I  was.  and  very  cold." 


I  seldom  after  this  saw  my  old  friend,  Miss  Boyle. 
I  could  not  press  her  coming  to  Holmhurst,  because 
she  forewarned   me  that,  if  she  came,  she  must  hold 


1863]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  103 

meetings  in  the  village.  A  sister  of  John  Bright 
declared, "  I  always  agree  with  my  old  gardener,  who 
says  '  I  canna  abide  a  crowing  hen  ; '  and  latterly 
I  have  been  of  much  the  same  opinion. 

We  left  home  again  for  Italy  on  the  26th  of 
October.  In  those  days  there  was  no  railway  across 
the  Mont  Cenis,  but  my  mother  enjoyed  the  vetturino 
journey  along  the  roads  fringed  with  barberries. 
Beyond  this,  travelling  became  difficult,  owing  to  the 
floods.  At  Piacenza  we  were  all  ejected  from  the 
train,  and  forced  to  walk  along  the  line  for  a  great 
distance,  and  then  to  cross  a  ford,  which  made  me 
most  thankful  that  my  mother  was  tolerably  well  at 
the  time. 

Journal. 

"  Nov.  7,  1863.  We  left  Bologna  at  5  A.  m.  In  the 
journey  to  Vergato  the  colouring  was  beautiful,  the  amber 
and  ruby  tints  of  autumn  melting  into  a  sapphire  distance. 
At  Vergato  we  engaged  the  coupe'  of  the  diligence,  and 
had  a  pleasant  passage  over  the  Apennines,  sometimes 
with  four,  sometimes  with  seven  horses  in  the  ascent.  The 
richness  of  the  autumnal  glory  was  beyond  description  —  a 
tossing  torrent,  rocky  moss-grown  forests  of  old  oaks  and 
chestnuts,  their  leaves  golden  in  death :  here  and  there 
thickets  of  holly  and  box :  an  old  castle  on  a  rock :  a 
lonely  old  town  (La  Porretta)  in  a  misty  hollow :  and  then 
a  grand  view  from  the  top  of  the  pass  over  purple  billowy 
mountains.  The  scenery  becomes  suddenly  Italian  —  per- 
fectly Italian  —  in  the  descent,  cypresses  and  stone-pines, 
villas  and  towers,  cutting  the  sky  and  relieved  upon 
the  delicate  distance:  and  in  the  depth  Pistoia,  lying 
like  a  map,  with  dome  and  towers  like  a  miniature 
Florence."     ■ 


104 


THE    STOllV    <)F   MY    LIFE 


[1863 


At  the  station  of  Ficulle  near  Orvieto,  where  the 
railway  to  the  south  came  to  an  end  altogether  at 
that  time,  the  floods  were  out  all  over  the  country, 
and  there  were  no  carriages  —  everything  being  quite 
disorganised.  We  arrived  at  a  miserable  little  sta- 
tion, scarcely  better  than  a  small  open  shed,  in  tor- 
rents of  rain,  at  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day,  and  had 
to  wait  till  the  same  hour  of  the  day  following,  when 
carriages   would   arrive  from    Orvieto.      Alter   some 


S.    FI.AVIANO    MONTKFIASCOXK. 


time  my  mother  was  conveyed  to  a  wretched  little 
inn,  but  it  was  necessary  for  some  one  to  remain  to 
guard  the  luggage,  and  knowing  what  a  fearful  hard- 
ship it  would  be  considered  by  our  cross-grained  man- 
servant, John  Gidman,  I  remained  sitting  upon  it, 
without  any  food  except  a  few  biscuits,  in  pitch  dark- 
ness at  night,  and  writh   the  swelching  rain   beating 

1  From  ••  Days  near  Rome." 


1803]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  105 

upon  my  miserable  shed,  for  twenty-four  hours.     It 
was  a  very  unpleasant  experience. 

When  at  length  we  got  away,  we  had  to  take  the 
road  by  Montefiascone  and  Viterbo,  which  was  then 
almost  untravelled,  and  the  postboys  took  advantage 
of  the  utter  loneliness  of  the  road  and  disturbed  state 
of  the  country  to  be  most  insolent  in  their  demands 
for  money.  Sometimes  they  would  stop  altogether 
in  a  desolate  valley  and  refuse  to  let  their  horses  go 
an  inch  farther  unless  we  paid  a  sort  of  ransom.  On 
such  occasions  we  always  took  out  our  books  and 
employed  ourselves  till  they  went  on  from  sheer 
weariness.  We  were  never  conquered,  but  it  made 
the  journey  very  anxious  and  fatiguing. 

It  was  with  real  thankfulness  that  we  reached 
Rome  on  November  12,  and  engaged  the  upper  apart- 
ment of  31  Piazza  di  Spagna,  our  landlady  being  the 
pleasant  daughter  of  Knebel  the  artist,  who  lived  in 
some  little  rooms  above  us,  with  her  brother  Tito 
and  her  nurse  Samuccia. 

The  first  clays  at  Rome  this  winter  were  absolute 
Elysium  —  the  sitting  for  hours  in  the  depth  of  the 
Forum,  then  picturesque,  flowery,  and  "  unrestored," 
watching  the  sunlight  first  kiss  the  edge  of  the 
columns  and  then  bathe  them  with  gold :  the  wan- 
derings with  different  friends  over  the  old  mysterious 
churches  on  the  Aventine  and  Coelian,  and  the  find- 
ing out  and  analysing  all  their  histories  from  differ- 
ent books  at  home  in  the  evenings  :  the  very  drives 
between  the  high  walls,  watching  the  different  effects 
of  light  on  the  broken  tufa  stones,  and  the  pellitory 
and  maiden-hair  growing  between  them. 


106  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1863 

We  were  also  especially  fortunate  this  winter  in 
our  friends.     At  first  I  much  enjoyed  very  long  walks 

with  a  Mi-.1  and  Mrs.  Kershaw,  who  Lived  beneath  us. 

Taking    little    carriages   to   the    gates,    we    wandered 

forth  to  the  A(|ueduets  and  Roma  Vecchia,  where  we 

spent  the  day  in  drawing  and  picking  up  marbles, 

not   returning  till   the  cold  night-dews  were  creeping 

up  from  the  valleys,  and  the  peasants,  as  we  reached 

the  crowded  street    near  the   Theatre   of    Marcel  Ins. 

were  eating  their  fritture  and  chestnuts  by  lamplight, 

amid   a  jargon   of    harsh   tongues   and   gathering  of 

strange  costumes. 

We  saw    much  of  the   handsome  young   Marchese 

Annihale   Paolucci  di  Calholi.  in  the  Gkiardia  Nobile, 

whose  wife  was  an  old  friend  of  early  Hurstmonceaux 

days,  and  whose  children,  especially  the  second  son, 

Raniero,  have  always  remained  friends  of  mine.    This 

is  the  family  mentioned  by  Dante  in  -k  Purgatorio," 

xiv.  — 

"Questo  e  il  Rinier;  quest'  v.  il  pregio  e  1'  onore 
Delhi  casa  da  Calboli." 

Old  Lady  Wenlock2  came  to  the  Hotel  Europa 
close  beside  us,  and  was  a  constant  pleasure.  My 
mother  drove  with  her  frequently.  She  scarcely  ever 
said  anything  that  was  not  worth  observing,  and  her 
reminiscences  were  of  the  most  various  kinds.  She 
it  was  who,  by  telling  my  mother  of  her  own  strong 
wish  and  that  of  other  people  to  possess  some  of  my 
sketches,  first  suggested  the  idea  of  selling  my  draw- 

1   Rev.  E.  Kershaw,  afterwards  chaplain  to  Earl  De  la  Warr. 
-  Caroline,  daughter  of   Richard,  Lord    Braybrooke,  widow  of  the 
first  Lord  Wenlock. 


18(33]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  107 

ings.  We  amused  ourselves  one  evening  by  putting* 
prices  on  the  backs  of  sketches  of  the  winter  —  highly 
imaginative  prices,  as  it  seemed  to  us.  Some  time 
afterwards  Lady  Wenlock  had  a  party,  and  asked  for 
the  loan  of  my  portfolio  to  show  to  her  friends  :  when 
they  came  back  there  were  orders  to  the  amount 
of  £60. 

Other  friends  of  whom  we  saw  much  this  winter 
were  old  Lady  Selina  Bridgeman,  sister  of  my 
mother's  dear  friend  Lady  Frances  Higginson ;  and 
Lord  and  Lady  Hobart.  Lord  Hobart  was  afterwards 
Governor  of  Madras,  but  at  this  time  he  was  exces- 
sively poor,  and  they  lived  in  a  tiny  attic  apartment 
in  the  Via  Sistina.  At  many  houses  we  met  the  long- 
haired Franz  Liszt,  the  famous  composer,  and  heard 
him  play.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Archer  Houblon  also  were 
people  we  liked,  and  we  were  drawn  very  near  to 
them  by  our  common  interest  in  the  news  which 
reached  us  just  after  our  arrival  in  Rome  of  the  en- 
gagement of  Arthur  Stanley,  just  after  his  appoint- 
ment to  the  Deanery  of  Westminster,  to  Lady  Au- 
gusta Bruce  (first  cousin  of  Mrs.  Houblon),  the  person 
whom  his  mother  had  mentioned  as  the  one  she  would 
most  like  him  to  marry. 

A  little  before  Christmas  —  a  Christinas  of  the  old 
kind,  with  a  grand  Papal  benediction  from  the  altar 
of  St.  Peter's  —  Henry  Alford,  Dean  of  Canterbury, 
and  his  family  came  to  Rome.  With  them  I  went 
many  delightful  expeditions  into  the  distant  Cam- 
pagna :  to  Ostia,  with  its  then  still  gorgeous  marbles 
and  melancholy  tower  and  pine :  to  Castel  Fusano, 
with  its  palace,  like  that  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  rising 


108 


THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1863 


lovely  from  its  green  lawns,  with  its  pine  avenue  and 
decaying  vases  with  golden-flowered  aloes,  and  beyond 
all  the  grand  old  Eoresl  with  its  deep  green  recesses 
and  gigantic  pines  and  hays  and  ilexes,  its  deep  still 

pools  and  its  ahysses  of  wood,  bounded  on  one  side  by 
the  Campagna,  and  on  the  other  by  the  sea;  to  Col- 
latia,  with  its  woods  of  violets  and  anemones,  and  its 
purling  brook  and  broken  tower;  to  Cerbara,  with  its 


■  WS$$SS$ 


OSTIA.1 


colossal  caves  and  violet  banks,  and  laurustinus  wav- 
ing like  angels'  wings  through  the  great  rifts  ;  to 
Veii,  with  its  long  circuit  of  ruins,  its  tunnelled  Ponte 
Sodo  and  its  mysterious  columbarium  and  tomb. 
Another  excursion  also  lives  in  my  mind,  which  I 
took  with  Harry  and  Albert  Brassey,  when  we  went 
out  very  early  to  Frascati,  and  climbed  in  the  gor- 
geous early  morning  to  Tusculum,  where  the  little 
crocuses  were  just  opening  upon  the  dew-laden  turf, 
and  then  made  our  way  across  hedge  and  ditch  to 
Grotto  Ferrata  and  its  frescoes. 

1   From  "  Days  near  Rome." 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  109 

I  have  always  found  —  at  Rome  especially  —  that 
the  pleasantest  way  is  to  see  very  little,  and  to  en- 
joy that  thoroughly.  "  Je  n'avale  pas  les  plaisirs,  je 
sais  les  gouter." 

In  the  spring  our  sketchings  and  excursions  were 
frequently  shared  by  our  cousins,  Maria  and  Mary 
Shaw-Lefevre,  who  came  to  Rome  with  their  maternal 
aunt,  Miss  Wright,  whom  I  then  saw  for  the  first 
time,  but  who  afterwards  became  the  dearest  of  my 
friends  —  a  nominal  "  Aunt  Sophy,"  far  kinder  and 
far  more  beloved  than  any  real  aunt  I  have  ever 
known. 

But  most  of  all  does  my  remembrance  linger  upon 
the  many  quiet  hours  spent  alone  with  the  mother 


THEATRE    OF    TUSCUI.TM.1 


during  this  winter,  of  an  increasing  communion  with 
her  upon  all  subjects,  in  which  she  then,  being  in  per- 
fect health,  was  able  to  take  an  active  and  energetic 
interest.  Especially  do  I  look  back  to  each  Sunday 
afternoon  passed  in  the  Medici  Gardens,  where  she 
would  sit  on  the  sheltered  sunny  seats  backed  by  the 
great  box  hedges  —  afternoons  when  her  gentle  pres- 
ence, when  the  very  thought  of  her  loved  existence, 
made  all  things  sweet  and  beautiful  to  me,  recalling 
Cowper's  lines  — 

1  From  "  Days  near  Rome." 


HO  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1864 

"When  one  that  holds  communion  with  the  skies 
Has  filled  her  urn  where  these  pure  waters  rise, 
And  once  more  mingles  with  us  meaner  things, 
'Tifl  e'en  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wings; 

Immortal  Eragrance  tills  the  circuit  wide, 

Ami  tills  ns  whence  her  treasures  are  supplied." 

These  afternoons  with  the  mother  are  my  real 
Roman  memories  of  1863-64— not  the  hot  rooms, 
not    the  evening  crowds,   not  the  ceremonies  at  St. 

Peter's ! 

This  year  I  greatly  wished  something  that  was  not 
compatible  with  the  entire  devotion  of  my  time  and 
life  to  my  mother.  Therefore  I  smothered  the  wish, 
and  the  hope  that  had  grown  up  with  it.  Those 
things  do  not  —  cannot  —  recur. 

One  day  in  the  spring,  mother  and  I  drove  to  our 
favorite  spot  of  the  Acqua  Acetosa,  and  walked  in  the 
sun  by  the  muddy  Tiber.  When  we  came  back,  we 
found  news  that  Aunt  Esther  was  dead.  She  had  never 
recovered  from  a  violent  cold  which  she  caught  when 
lying  for  hours,  in  pouring  rain,  upon  her  husband's 
grave.  Her  death  was  characteristic  of  her  life,  for 
with  the  strongest  sense  of  duty  and  a  determination 
to  carry  it  out  to  the  uttermost,  no  mental  constitu- 
tion can  possibly  be  imagined  more  happily  con- 
structed for  self-torment  than  hers.  My  mother 
grieved  for  her  loss,  and  I  grieved  that  my  darling- 
had  sorrow.  .  .  .  How  many  years  of  heartburnings 
and  privation  are  buried  forever  out  of  sight  in  that 
grave!  Requiesccdin  pace.  1  believe  that  I  have  en- 
tirely forgiven  all  the  years  of  bitter  suffering  that 
she  caused  me.  "  He  who  cannot  forgive  others, 
breaks  the  bridge  over  which  he  must  pass  himself: 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  HI 

for  every  man  hath  need  to  be  forgiven,"  was  a  dic- 
tum of  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury.  I  believe  that  I 
really  feel  this ;  still  "  les  morts  se  preterit  aux  recon- 
ciliations avec  une  extreme  facilite,"  as  Anatole 
France  says.1 

We  did  not  go  to  many  of  the  services.  The  most 
impressive  processions  we  saw  were  really  those  of 
the  bare-footed  monks  who  followed  the  funerals, 
many  hundreds  of  them,  each  with  his  lighted  candle  : 
we  used  to  hear  their  howling  chant  long  before  they 
turned  the  corner  of  the  Piazza  di  Spagna. 

To    MY  SlSTEU. 

"31  Piazza  di  Spagna,  Rome,  Feb.  1864.  Manning  is  in- 
defatigable in  proselytising.  I  once  went  to  hear  him 
preach  at  San  Carlo  :  anything  so  dull,  so  wholly  unimpas- 
sioned,  1  never  heard.  There  was  a  great  function  at  the 
Minerva  the  other  day  as  a  protest  against  Renan.  Michel- 
angelo's statue  of  Christ  was  raised  aloft  and  illuminated. 
A  Dominican  friar  preached,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  sermon 
shouted,  '  Adesso,  fratelli  miei,  una  viva  per  Gesu  Cristo  ! ' 
and  all  the  congregation  shouted  'Viva.'  And  when  he 
finished  he  cried  'Adesso  tre  volte  viva  per  Gesu  Cristo!' 
and  when  they  were  given,  'E  una  viva  di  pin,'  just  as  if  it 
were  a  toast.  The  Bambino  of  Ara  Cceli  has  broken  its 
toe  !  It  was  so  angry  at  the  church  door  beino-  shut  when 
it  returned  from  its  drive,  that  it  kicked  the  door  till  one 
of  its  toes  came  off,  and  the  monks  are  in  sad  disgrace. 

"  The  old  Palace  of  the  Caesars,  as  we  have  always  called 
it,  is  being  superseded  by  immense  scavi,  opened  by  the 
French  Emperor  in  the  Orti  Farnesiani :   these  have  laid 

1  All  Mrs.  Julius  Hare's  family  of  her  generation  have  passed 
away:  all  to  whom  the  story  of  my  child  life  as  connected  with  her 
could  give  any  pain. 


L12  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1864 

bare  such  quantities  of  old  buildings  and  pavements,  that 
the  Orti  are  now  like  a  Little  Pompeii." 

We  left  Rome  before  Easter,  and  spent  it  quietly  at 
Albano,  where  we  had  many  delightful  A<i\*.  with 
lir.-t  the  Hobarts  and  then  the  Leghs  of  Booths  in  our 
hotel,  and  I  made  charming  excursions  up  Monte  Cavi 
and  round  the  lake  of  Nemi  with  Alexander  Buchanan 
and  the  Brasseys.  On  Good  Friday  there  was  a  mag- 
nificent procession,  the  dead  and  bleeding  Christ  car- 
ried by  night  through  the  streets  upon  a  bier,  pre- 
ceded and  attended  by  monks  and  mutes  with  flaming 
torches,  and  followed  by  a  wailing  multitude.  In  the 
principal  square  the  procession  stopped,  the  bier  was 
raised  aloft,  and  while  the  torchlight  flamed  upon 
the  livid  features  of  the  dead,  a  monk  called  upon 
the  people  to  bear  witness  and  to  account  for  his 
*•  murder." 

At  Sorrento  we  spent  a  foil  night  at  the  Villa 
Nardi,  with  its  quiet  orange-grove  and  little  garden 
edged  with  ancient  busts  overlooking  the  sea.  At 
Amalfi,  the  Alfords  joined  us.  We  went  together  to 
Ravello.  1  remember  how  the  Dean  insisted  on  call- 
ing the  little  dog  that  went  with  us  from  the  inn 
"  Orthodog,"  and  another  dog,  which  chose  to  join 
our  company,  "  Heterodog,"  on  the  principle  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  explained  the  distinction  by  saying. 
"  Madam,  orthodoxy  is  my  doxy,  and  heterodoxy  is 
any  other  person's  doxy." 

As  we  returned  through  Rome  we  stayed  at  the 
Palazzo  Parisani,  and  much  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  the 
large  cool  rooms,  where  we  lived  chiefly  on  riccotta 


1864]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  113 

and  lettuces.  One  day  as  we  came  in,  the  porter  gave 
us  a  black-edged  letter.  It  was  the  news  that  poor 
"  Italima  "  was  released  from  all  her  sorrows.  For 
my  sister,  to  whom  Madame  de  Trafford  had  written 
exactly  foretelling  what  was  going  to  happen,  one 
could  only  give  thanks  (though  she  truly  mourned 
her  mother) ;  but  it  was  strangely  solemnising  receiv- 
ing the  news   in  "  Italima's  "  own  rooms,  where  we 

•  -  Avn. 


AMALFI.1 

had  seen  her  in  her  utmost  prosperity.     It  was  a  fort- 
night before  Esmeralda  could  send  us  any  details. 

"  34  Bryanston  Street,  May  9,  1864.  Your  long-expected 
letter  came  this  morning.  I  had  been  waiting  for  it  every 
day,  every  hour.  The  illness  was  so  short,  and  the  sense 
of  desolation  so   terrible   afterwards,  it  seems   strange  to 

1  From  "  Southern  Italy." 

VOL.  II.  —  8 


I  I -J  THK   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1864 

have  lived.  On  the  Thursday  the  nuns  of  the  Precious 
Blood  came  to  dinner,  and  were  alarmed  by  seeing  a 
change  in  Mama.  She  talked  cheerfully  to  them,  but 
when    I    left    the   room,   she  said  to  the  Superior,  '  I  am 

realh  ill,"  hut  this  was  not  told  me  till  afterwards.  I  sent 
h>r  Dr.  Bell.  He  said  at  once,  k  It  is  bronchitis,  hut  there 
is  no  danger,  nothing  to  he  feared."  On  Friday,  Mama 
was  tip  as  early  as  usual.  Father  Galway  came  to  see  her, 
also  Lady  Lothian.  Mama  was  cheerful,  and  they  saw  no 
cause  for  anxiety.  Every  hour  made  me  more  anxious. 
Mama  kept  saying,  '  Esmeralda,  you  cannot  keep  quiet, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you?  I  am  not  ill."  On  Saturday 
I  thought  Mama  worse,  and  more  so  on  Sunday,  though 
she  got  up  and  came  downstairs.  Lady  Lothian  came  at 
two  o'clock,  then  Father  Galway.  Mama  talked  to  Father 
Galway  about  her  past  life,  and  seemed  quite  cheerful. 
She  sat  up  till  nine  o'clock.  When  Mama  was  in  bed, 
she  said,  '  I  am  better,  I  think;  go  to  bed,  you  are  so  tired, 
and  do  not  get  up  again.'  I  went  to  my  loom  and  wrote 
a  letter  to  Father  Galway,  as  I  dreaded  that  a  change 
might  take  place  in  the  night,  and  wished  that  the  letter 
might  be  ready  to  send.  I  went  to  .Mama  several  times. 
...  It  was  at  two  o'clock  that  she  laid  her  hand  upon  my 
head  and  said,  with  a  great  effort,  '  Esmeralda,  I  am  going 
from  you.'  ...  In  a  few  minutes  she  began  to  say  the 
Gloria.  I  repeated  the  Belief,  the  Our  Father,  and  the 
Mail  Mary.  .  .  .  Soon  after  five  o'clock  Father  Galway 
was  here,  and  then  Lady  Lothian  came  with  a  nun  of  the 
Misdricorde  as  a  nurse.  Mama  was  then  better,  and  seemed 
surprised  to  see  Father  Galway.  T  remained  praying  in 
the  next  room  with  the  nun  and  Lady  Lothian.  At  seven, 
I  went  in  to  Mama.  She  did  not  then  believe  she  was 
dying,  but  said  she  was  ready  to  make  her  last  confession. 
The  nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood  had  brought  the  relic  of 
the  True  Cross.  At  a  quarter  past  eight  o'clock  Father 
Galway  had   heard   Mama's   confession;  he  then  said  she 


1864]  HOME  LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  115 

must  be  raised  before  she  could  receive  the  Last  Sacra- 
ments. We  all  went  into  the  room.  Lady  Lothian  made 
every  effort  to  raise  Mama.  She  stood  on  the  bed,  and 
tried  to  raise  her;  it  was  no  use;  we  all  tried  in  turn. 
The  nun  of  the  Misericorde  suggested  raising  Mama  on 
sheets.  It  must  have  been  dreadful  agony.  There  were  a 
few  deep  moans,  but  at  last  the  nuns  and  Lady  Lothian 
did  raise  Mama.  Then  she  received  Extreme  Unction ; 
the  nuns,  Lady  Lothian,  and  I  kneeling  around.  Father 
Galway  approached  the  bed,  and  said  to  Mama  that  she 
was  going  to  receive  the  Bodjr  and  Blood  of  our  Lord — 
'  Could  she  swallow  still?  '  She  said  w  Yes  '  audibly.  She 
fixed  her  eyes  on  Father  Galway;  her  face  was  for  the 
instant  lighted  up  with  intensity  of  love  and  faith.  There 
was  a  pause.  Her  breathing  had  in  that  moment  become 
more  difficult.  Father  Galway  said  a  second  time  the 
same  words,  and  again,  with  a  great  effort,  Mama  said 
'  Yes. '  She  then  received  the  Holy  Viaticum,  and  in  that 
solemn  moment  her  eyes  opened  wide,  and  a  beautiful  calm 
peaceful  look  came  over  her  countenance,  —  and  this  calm 
look  never  left  her  through  all  the  long  hours  till  half -past 
three  o'clock  when  she  breathed  her  last.  When  she  was 
asked  anything,  she  always  answered,  '  Pray,  pray. '  Once 
she  opened  her  eyes  wide,  and  with  a  long  parting  look 
said,  '  Do  not  worry. '  —  she  passed  her  hand  over  my  head : 
she  liked  to  see  me  kneeling  by  her  side. 

"  Francis  did  not  arrive  till  Mama  had  received  the  Last 
Sacraments.  I  met  him  on  the  stairs,  and  said,  '  Francis, 
you  are  too  late.'  He  staggered  against  the  wall,  and 
with  a  cry  of  agony  exclaimed,  *  It  is  impossible.'  Father 
Galway  was  then  saying  the  prayers  of  the  agonising,  the 
responses  being  taken  up  by  the  nuns  and  Lady  Lothian. 
Lady  Williamson  and  Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton  had  also 
arrived,  but  I  do  not  think  Mama  knew  them.  At  two 
o'clock  Mama  asked  for  Lady  Lothian,  for  she  always 
missed  her  when  she  left  the  room  and  asked  for  her  back 


11G  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

again,  asked  her  to  pray,  and  tried  hard  to  say  something 
to  her  aboul  me.  I  Led  Francis  into  the  room,  and  Lady 
Lothian  said  to  .Mama,  '  Francis,  you  remember  Francis, ' 

and  Mama  said  *  Yes."  and  then  she  blessed  him.  Francis 
buried  his  head  in  his  hands,  his  whole  frame  quivering 
with  sobbing.  .Mama  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  with  a  kind 
parting  look,  and  then  closed  them  again.  Lady  Lothian 
then  said,  '  William*  (for  he  and  Edith  had  come),  and 
Mama  said  k  Yes,'  and  she  opened  her  eyes  again  and 
blessed  William.  Father  Galway  at  intervals  took  up  the 
prayers  for  the  dying,  — and  then,  at  last,  while  Francis, 
William,  Auntie,  and  Lady  Lothian  were  kneeling  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  the  nuns  supporting  Mania,  the  words 
were  heard  — k  Go  forth.'  There  was  a  slight,  hardly 
audible,  rattle  in  Mama's  throat.  Father  Galway  turned 
round  to  me,  and  said,  '  Now  you  can  help  her  more  than 
you  did  before,"  and  began  the  prayers  for  the  dead  —  the 
live  joyful  mysteries  of  the  Rosary.  The  overpowering 
awe  of  that  solemn  moment  prevented  any  outburst  of 
grief;  a  soul  had  in  that  instant  been  judged.  For  long  I 
had  prayed  that  Mama  might  make  a  good  death,  and  this 
prayer  was  answered.  All  Father  Galway 's  devotion 
before  and  afterwards  to  each  and  all  of  us,  -all  Lady 
Lothian's  untiring  kindness,  I  can  never  tell  you,  it  was 
so  beautiful.  Then  came  long  days  of  watching  by  the 
body.  The  nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood  sent  their  large 
crucifix  and  their  high  silver  candlesticks;  the  room  was 
hung  in  black  and  white.  Auntie  is  sadly  altered,  but 
always  patient  and  self-sacrificing.  I  was  with  Lady 
Lothian  a  week:  how  that  week  went  by  I  cannot  tell, 
and  now  there  are  lawyers.  I  long  for  rest.  There  is 
such  a  blank,  such  a  loneliness.  I  like  to  be  alone  with 
our  Blessed  Lord,  and  to  shut  out  the  world." 

"May  18.     Probably  I  have  told  you  everything  up  to 
the  time  of  the  death,  three  weeks  last  Monday,  and  still 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  117 

i 

I  can  hardly  realise  it.  Those  last  hours  are  so  vivid. 
My  thoughts  are  going  back.  Was  there  anything  that 
could  have  been  done  that  was  not  done  to  save  Mania's 
life?  was  there  anything  she  wished  for  that  was  not  done? 
because  her  breathing  was  so  difficult  she  could  only  artic- 
ulate the  shortest  words.  There  was  one  sentence  she 
tried  to  say  to  Lady  Lothian,  and  over  and  over  again  she 
began  it  with  such  an  anxious  look  that  Lady  Lothian 
should  understand  it,  but  it  was  impossible.  It  began  "'  j£  x 
with  Es  .  .  .  da,  and  ended  with  her,  but  the  intermediate 
words  were  lost. 

"  After  all  was  over,  Lady  Lothian  took  me  by  the  hand 
and  led  me  gently  to  the  sofa  in  the  other  room.  After 
some  time  the  nun  of  the  Misericorde  fetched  me  into  the 
room  of  death,  and  we  began  to  light  torches  round  the 
bed,  and  watch  those  dear  remains,  and  there  we  watched 
and  prayed  for  the  dead  for  long,  long  hours.  I  ordered 
a  person  to  watch  from  eleven  at  night  until  the  morning, 
when  the  nun  of  the  Misericorde  went  in.  She  had  been 
resting  in  my  bedroom  next  door,  and  we  had  been  taking 
up  alternately,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  the  prayers  for 
dear  Mama.  Then  began  the  watching  through  the  day. 
The  Abbe  de  Tourzel,  Father  Galway,  William,  Edith, 
Lady  Lothian,  and  Lady  G.  Fullerton  came  in  turn  to 
watch,  and  so  the  day  passed,  and  the  night,  and  Tuesday. 
On  Tuesday  evening  Francis  came  up.  The  whole  room 
had  been  transformed.  When  he  entered  the  door,  he 
stopped  and  looked  around,  then  he  went  round  the  bed, 
stooped  over  Mama,  and  said,  k  Oh  sister,  Mama  does  not 
look  dead, '  then  he  sat  down,  buried  his  head  in  his  hands, 
and  there  he  remained  for  an  hour  and  a  half  without  mov- 
ing. And  then  he  left,  and  others  came  and  joined  in  the 
Rosary  and  Litany  for  the  dead,  and  then  came  the  second 
night,  and  on  Wednesday  there  were  watchers  through  the 
day.  On  Wednesday  I  first  felt  the  great  fatigue,  but 
that  day  also  passed  praying  and   watching.     The    next 


118  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1864 

day  Lady  (J.  Fullerton  came  and  took  me  to  her  house 
while  those  dear  remains  were  Laid  in  the  coffin.  In  the 
evening  the  nun  who  was  watching  would  not  let  me  see 
Mama  again,  but  I  got  lip  early  the  following  morning  and 
went  into  the  room,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  what  the  agony 
of  that  moment  was:  —  I  became  senseless  and  was  carried 
out.  The  coffin  was  closed  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  which  looked  like  a  chapel.  The  crucifix  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  coffin,  huge  silver  candlesticks  near  and 
around, — the  room  draped  in  black  and  white,  and  a 
bouquet  of  fresh  flowers  at  the  head  of  the  coffin. 
Watchers  succeeded  each  other,  Miss  Turville  several 
times.  Mrs.  (ialton,  and  so  through  Thursday  and  Friday. 
( )n  Friday  evening  Lady  Lothian  took  me  away. 

"The  body  was  carried  to  the  church  at  Farm  Street  at 
halt-past  eight  on  Friday  evening,  as  it  was  my  wish  that 
it  should  remain  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament  throughout 
the  night.  Low  Masses  commenced  at  seven  o'clock,  at 
which  time  persons  began  to  assemble.  At  ten  o'clock 
were  the  Requiem  and  High  Mass.  The  coffin  was  placed 
on  a  catafalque  in  front  of  the  high  altar,  surrounded  by 
burning  tapers.  Francis  was  on  the  right,  William  on  the 
left,  the  four  nuns  at  the  foot,  Lady  Williamson,  Lady 
Hardwicke,  Sir  Hedworth,  Lord  Normanby,  Col.  Augustus 
Liddell,  Victor  Williamson,  and  many  others,  stood  near 
them.  The  chapel  was  full,  the  wailing  chant  very  impres- 
sive. There  was  one  person,  an  old  man  tottering  with 
grief,  whom  every  one  saw,  and  every  one  inquired  who 
he  was.  At  eleven  o'clock  six  bearers  came  up  the  centre 
of  the  church,  and  slowly  the  coffin  was  carried  out.  The 
family  followed.  Lady  Lothian  came  out  of  one  of  the 
seats  and  implored  me  not  to  follow  to  the  cemetery. 
The  crowd  closed  in  behind  the  coffin.  Lady  Lothian  and 
I  remained  in  the  church;  after  a  time  we  returned  to  her 
house.  Everything  appeared  indistinct  from  that  time. 
Now  William  will  tell  the  rest. 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  119 

(Continued  by  William.)  ""The  four  carriages  started 
along  the  road;  by  the  side  ran  the  weather-beaten  white- 
haired  gentleman,  and  every  one  still  inquired  who  he  was. 
We  reached  Kensal  Green  at  half-past  one.  The  coffin 
was  carried  into  the  chapel,  and  laid  upon  another  cata- 
falque, where  it  was  asperged.  After  a  very  impressive 
oration  by  Father  Galway,  the  procession  left  the  chapel 
headed  by  the  four  nuns.  Then  came  the  priests,  then  all 
the  others  following  the  coffin,  and  last  of  all  the  white- 
haired  unknown.  As  the  coffin  was  lowered,  the  responses 
were  chanted  by  the  nuns,  and  at  the  same  time  a  gleam 
of  sunshine  burst  forth,  being  the  only  one  that  appeared, 
throwing  a  strong  light  over  everything. 

"  That  day  the  nuns  and  Father  Galway  went  to  see  my 
sister,  who  was  terribly  exhausted.  On  Monday  morning 
the  white-haired  unknown  came  to  Bryanston  Street  and 
asked  for  Miss  Hare.  He  was  sent  on  to  Lady  Lothian. 
Sister  was  alone  (now  she  dictates  the  rest).  The  door 
opened,  and  as  I  looked,  I  saw  a  white-haired  old  man, 
who  seemed  almost  as  if  he  had  not  strength  to  come  for- 
ward. I  went  up  to  him.  Tears  were  streaming  down 
his  face ;  he  clasped  my  hands  in  his,  and  exclaimed,  '  Ah ! 
Mademoiselle !  '  and  his  sobs  choked  him  and  prevented 
him  from  saying  any  more,  and  I,  in  my  turn,  exclaimed, 
'  Oh!  Lamarre,  c'est  vous!  '  It  was  indeed  Lamarre,  our 
old  cook  from  Palazzo  Parisani!  His  was  the  most  touch- 
ing sorrow  I  ever  saw.  '  Celle  que  j'ai  servie,  celle  que 
j'ai  v<mdree  pendant  tant  d'annees,  j'ai  voulu  lui  rendre  ce 
dernier  hommage  de  mon  devoir.  J'ai  respecte*  votre  dou- 
leur  dans  l'eglise,  et  j'ai  suivi  le  cortege  a  pied  jusqu'au 
cimetiere.  J'ai  desire  voir  la  fin.'  As  Lamarre  leaned 
over  me,  he  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  I  made  him 
sit  down  by  the  fireside,  and  then  we  talked  more  calmly. 
Only  when  he  spoke  of  Victoire  and  her  terrible  grief,  all 
his  sorrow  burst  out  again,  and  large  tears  trickled  down 
his  cheeks.     It   was  such  a  sad  parting  when  he  went. 


120  THE   STORY    OF    MY   LIFE  [1864 

But  I  was  comforted  in  feeling  h<>\\  Mama  had  been  Loved, 
how  much  she  had  been  esteemed  in  her  life,  how  many 
there  were  who  were  deeply  attached  to  her,  who  felt  the 
sorrow  as  1  felt  it.  Theo  came  the  days  of  long  Letters 
of  condolence  from  Prance,  from  Italy,  from  Pisa,  from 
Victoire,  whose  heart  seemed  breaking,  and  where  the 
funeral  mass  was  said  with  great  pomp,  sixty  of  the  Pisan 
clergy  attending,  who  sent  me  a  list  n\  their  names.  At 
Rome  the  Duchess  Sora  a\  ill  have  a  funeral  mass  said  at 
San  Claudio,  and  all  the  clergy  and  friends  who  knew 
Mama  well  will  be  present  to  offer  tip  their  prayers." 

According  to  Roman  custom,  the  death  was  an- 
nounced  to  acquaintances  by  a  dee])  mourning  paper 
inscribed  :  — 

••  Hare  j>itt/  on  me,  have  ]>it>/  on  me.  at  least  you,  unj 

friends." — I«>is  xix.  21. 

Of  your  charity  pray  for  the  soul  of 

Mrs.    ANN     FRANC  ES     II  A  R  E, 

(Widow  of  Francis  George  Hare,  Esq.,  brother  of  the  late  Archdeacon 
I  lav  of  Lewes,  Sussex),  who  departed  this  life,  after  a  short  illness, 
on  the  25th  of  April  1864,  aged  sixty-three  years,  fortified  with  all  the 
rites  of  Holy  Church.     On  whose  soul  sweel  Jesus  have  mercy. 

/,'  quiescat  in  pace.     Aim  n. 


••Afflicted   in   few   things,  in    many   shall    they   be    well   rewarded, 
because  God  has  tried  them." —  Wisdom,  iii.  5.1 

It  was   Mr.   Trafford    who    responded    to   the  an- 
nouncement of   the  death  which   had   been    sent   to 

Madame  cle  Trafford:  — 

"  Chdteau  A-    Beaujour,  par   Onzain,    Cher  et    Loire,    ee 
1    Mai   1864!     Croyez,    ma    chere   Demoiselle,    que  nous 

1    Placed  on  the  doors  of  Catholic  churches  and  chapels. 


1864]  .    HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  121 

partageons  lien  votre  douleur,  mais  femme  propose,  et 
Dieu  dispose.  Vous  savez  que  Madame  de  Trafford  avait 
prevu  ce  qui  est  arrive.  .  .  .  Madame  de  Trafford  vous 
dira  encore  *  Esperance  et  Confiance. ' 

"E.  W.  Trafford." 


To  my  Sister. 

"'Florence,  May  22,  1864.  This  morning  we  have  re- 
ceived your  most  touching  account  of  the  last  hours,  of 
which  we  had  so  longed  to  know  something.  You  may 
imagine  with  what  breathless  interest  we  have  followed 
every-  detail. 

"...  1  have  seen  poor  Mr.  Landor  several  times.  He 
has  a  small  lodging  in  the  Via  della  Chiesa.  where  he 
'  sits  out  the  grey  remainder  of  Ins  evening, '  as  Coleridge 
would  describe  it.  He  is  terribly  altered,  has  lost  the  use 
of  his  hearing  and  almost  of  his  speech,  and  cannot  move 
from  his  chair  to  his  bed.  I  think  he  had  a  very  indistinct 
recollection  who  I  was.  but  he  remembered  the  family, 
and  liked  to  say  over  the  old  names  — '  Francis.  Augustus, 
Julius,  i  miei  tre  imperatori.  I  have  never  known  any 
family  1  loved  so  much  as  yours.  I  loved  Francis  most, 
then  Julius,  then  Augustus,  but  I  loved  them  all.  Francis 
was  the  dearest  friend  I  ever  had. '  He  also  spoke  of  the 
Buller  catastrophe.  '  It  was  a  great,  great  grief  to  me.' 
I  did  not  tell  him  what  has  happened  lately:  it  was  no  use, 
he  can  live  so  short  a  time.1 

"  When  he  last  left  the  Villa  Landore.  it  was  because 
Mrs.  Landor  turned  him  out  by  main  force.  It  was  a 
burning  day,  a  torrid  summer  sun.  He  walked  on  dazed 
down  the  dusty  road,  the  sun  beating  on  his  head.      His 

1  He  died  on  the  17th  of  the  following  September. 

"  Oh,  let  him  pass  !  he  hates  him  much 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  rough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer."  —  King  Lear. 


L22  THE    STORY    OF   MY    LIKE  [1864 

life  probably  was  saved  by  his  meeting  Mr.  Browning, 
who  took  him  home.     Aiter  some  time  Browning  asked  to 

take  him  to  the  Storys'  villa  at  Siena,  and  lie  stayed  with 
them  a  Long  time.  Mrs.  Storj  says  that  nothing  ever  more 
completely  realised  King  Lear  than  his  appearance  when 
he  arrived,  with  his  long  flowing  white  locks  and  his  wild 
Ear-away  expression.  But  after  a  day  of  rest  he  seemed 
to  revive,  lie  would  get  tip  very  early  and  sit  for  hours 
at  a  little  table  in  the  great  hall  of  the  villa  writing  verses 
—  often  Latin  verses. 

"One  day  he  wrote,  and  thundered  out,  an  epigram  on 
his  wife :  — 

•  From  the  first  Paradise  an  angel  once  drove  Adam  ; 
From  mine  a  fiend  expelled  me :  Thank  you,  madam.' 

"  Then  he  would  tell  the  Storys  interesting  things  out 
of  his  long-ago,  describing  Count  D'Orsay  and  Lady 
Blessington,  with  Disraeli  sitting  silently  watching  their 
conversation,  as  if  it  were  a  display  of  fireworks.  He  was 
always  courteous  and  kind  —  a  polished  gentleman  of  the 
old  school.  At  last  Browning  arranged  for  him  to  go  to 
a  lodging  of  his  own,  but  he  went  to  spend  their  little 
girl's  birthday  with  the  Storys.  He  walked  to  their  villa 
along  the  dusty  road  in  his  old  coat,  but  when  he  came 
in,  he  unbuttoned  it,  and  with  one  of  his  old  volleys  of 
laughter  showed  a  flowered  waistcoat,  very  grand,  which 
k  D'Orsay  and  he  had  ordered  together,'  and  which  he  had 
put  on  in  honour  of  the  occasion. 

"  After  he  was  living  in  Florence,  Mrs.  Browning  told 
him  one  day  that  she  had  just  got  Lord  Lytton's  newr  book 
k  Lucile. '  — '  Oh,  God  bless  my  soul !  '  he  said,  '  do  lend  it 
to  me. '  In  an  hour  he  sent  it  back.  '  Who  could  ever 
read  a  poem  which  began  with  But  ?  '  However,  he  was 
afterwards  persuaded  to  read  it,  and  shouted,  as  he  gen- 
erally did  over  what  pleased  him,  '  Why,  God  bless  my 
soul,  it 's  the  finest  thing  I  ever  read  in  my  life.' 


UK"*** 
I    • 


1864]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  123 

"  Mrs.  Browning  did  not  think  he  was  properly  looked 
after  at  Florence,  and  sent  her  excellent  maid,  Wilson,  to 
care  for  him.  But  it  did  not  answer.  Wilson  cooked  him 
a  most  excellent  little  dinner,  and  when  he  saw  it  on  the 
table,  he  threw  it  all  out  of  the  window;  it  was  too 
English,  he  said." 

In  returning  north  from  Italy,  we  made  an  excur- 
sion to  Courmayeur,  driving  in  a  tiny  carriage  from 
Ivrea  along  the  lovely  Val  d'Aosta,  and  lingering  to 
sketch  at  all  the  beautiful  points.  In  France  we  had 
an  especially  happy  day  at  Tonnerre,  a  thoroughly 
charming  old  town,  where  the  people  were  employed 
in  gathering  the  delicious  lime-flowers  which  lined 
the  boulevards,  for  drying  to  make  tisanes. 

There  was  a  subject  of  painful  interest  to  us  dur- 
ing this  summer,  which  it  is  difficult  to  explain  in  a 
few  words.  Mv  sister's  letter  mentions  how,  when 
Italima  was  <l}Ting,  there  was  one  thing  which  she 
tried  over  and  over  again  to  say  to  the  Dowager 
Lady  Lothian,  who  was  with  her,  and  which  Lady 
Lothian  and  the  other  bystanders  vainly  endeavoured 
to  understand.  It  began  with  "  Esmeralda '  and 
ended  with  "  her,"  but  the  intermediate  words  wrere 
lost.  We  naturally  explained  it  to  mean  "  Esmer- 
alda will  be  very  desolate  when  I  am  gone ;  you  will 
look  after  her." 

After  Italima' s  death,  Esmeralda  had  moved  from 
Bryanston  Street  to  a  house  in  Duke  Street,  Man- 
chester Square,  which  was  kept  by  Mrs.  Thorpe,  the 
faithful  and  devoted  maid  of  Italima' s  old  friend 
Mrs.  Chambers.  Here  my  sister  had  every  comfort, 
and  might  have  had  rest,  but  one  day  her  brother 


L24 


THE    STORY    OK    MY    LIFE 


[1804 


William  came  to  visit  her.  and  broke  a  blood-vessel 
while  be  was  in  the  house.  His  wife  was  sent  for, 
and  lor  several  weeks  he  hovered  between  life  and 
death;  indeed,  he  never  really  recovered  from  this 
attack,  though  be  was  able  to  be  moved  in  a  month 


COURMAYEUR.1 


and  lived  for  more  than  three  years.  The  fatigue  of 
her  brother's  illness  entirely  prostrated  Esmeralda, 
who   was  already  terribly   shaken   in  health  by  the 

1    From  "  Northern  Italy." 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  125 

fatigue  of  the  strange  watchings,  enjoined  by  Cathol- 
icism, which  followed  her  mother's  death. 

It  was  about  August  that  I  received  a  letter  from 
my  Aunt  Eleanor  Paul  begging  me  to  come  to  Lon- 
don immediately  for  something  most  extraordinary 
and  trying  had  happened.  When  I  went,  I  found 
my  sister  looking  terribly  ill,  and  my  aunt  greatly 
agitated.  My  aunt  said  that  two  days  before  Mrs.  i 
Beckwith  had  been  to  visit  my  sister ;  that,  suppos- 
ing she  was  come  to  talk  of  Catholic  matters,  she 
had  not  paid  any  especial  attention  to  what  they 
were  saying,  and  owing  to  her  deafness,  she  conse- 
quently heard  nothing.  That  she  was  suddenly 
startled  by  a  scream  from  my  sister,  and  looking  up, 
saw  her  standing  greatly  excited,  and  Mrs.  Beckwith 
trying  to  soothe  her ;  that  she  still  supposed  it  was 
some  Catholic  news  which  had  agitated  my  sister, 
and  that  consequently  she  made  no  inquiries. 

The  next  day,  Esmeralda  went  out  to  drive  with 
Mrs.  Beckwith,  and  when  she  came  back  she  looked 
dreadfully  harassed  and  altered,  so  much  so  that  at 
last  my  aunt  said,  "  Now,  Esmeralda,  I  am  quite  sure 
something  has  happened.  I  stand  in  the  place  of  a 
mother  to  you  now,  and  I  insist  upon  knowing  what 
it  is. 

Then  my  sister  said  that  Mrs.  Beckwith  had 
startled  her  the  day  before  by  saying  that,  as  she  had 
been  walking  down  Brook  street,  Madame  de  Traf- 
ford  had  suddenly  appeared  before  her,  and,  looking 
back  upon  all  the  events  connected  with  the  past 
appearances  of  Madame  de  Trafford,  the  news  was 
naturally  a  shock  to  her.     After  driving  with  Mrs. 


126  THE    STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

Beckwith,  she  liad  returned  with  her  to  her  hotel, 
and  while  she  was  there  the  door  suddenly  opened, 
and  Madame  de  Trafford  came  in. 

The  malady  from  which  Esmeralda  had  been  suf- 
fering was  an  extraordinary  feeling,  a  sensation  of 
burning  in  her  fingers.  The  doctor  whom  she  had 
consulted,  when  this  sensation  became  so  acute  as  to 
prevent  her  .sleeping,  said  it  arose  from  an  over- 
wrought state  of  nerves,  possibly  combined  with  some 
strain  she  might  have  received  while  helping  to 
move  furniture  to  turn  the  room  into  a  chapel,  after 
her  mother's  death.  When  Madame  de  Trafford 
came  into  the  room  at  the  hotel,  my  sister  instantly, 
as  usual,  jumped  up  to  embrace  her,  but  Madame  de 
Trafford  put  out  her  hands  and  warded  her  off  with 
a  gesture  of  horror,  exclaiming,  "  Ne  me  touchez  pas, 
ma  chere,  je  vous  en  supplie,  ne  me  touchez  pas  :  c'est 
vos  doigts  qui  sont  en  feu.  Ah  !  ne  me  touchez  pas." 
And  then  she  became  terribly  transfigured  —  the 
voice  of  prophecy  came  upon  her,  and  she  said, 
••  When  your  mother  was  dying,  there  was  something 
she  tried  to  say  to  Lady  Lothian,  which  you  none  of 
you  were  able  to  hear  or  understand.  I,  in  my 
chateau  of  Beau  jour  in  Touraine,  I  heard  it.  It 
echoed  through  and  through  me.  It  echoes  through 
me  still.  For  three  months  I  have  struggled  day 
and  night  not  to  be  forced  to  tell  you  what  it  was, 
but  I  can  struggle  no  longer;  I  am  compelled  to 
come  here;  I  am  forced  away  from  Beau  jour;  I  am 
forced  to  England  against  my  will.  When  your 
mother  was  dying  she  saw  the  future,  and  said, 
i  Esmeralda  will  soon  follow  me  :   1  shall  not  long  be 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  127 

separated  from  her.'  And  you  will  follow  her," 
shrieked  Madame  de  Trafford,  her  eyes  flaming,  and 
every  nerve  quivering  with  passion.  "  You  will  fol- 
low her  very  soon.  Only  one  thing  could  save  you  : 
if  you  were  to  go  to  Rome  before  the  winter,  that 
might  save  your  life  ;  but  if  not,  you  must  —  die  !  ' 
And  then  Madame  de  Trafford,  sinking  down  sud- 
denly into  an  ordinary  uninspired  old  woman,  began 
to  cry ;  she  cried  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

When  my  aunt  heard  what  Madame  de  Traft'ord 
had  said,  she  felt  the  injury  it  might  do  to  my  sister's 
impressible  nature,  and  she  was  very  angry.  She 
felt  that,  whatever  her  impulse  might  have  been, 
Madame  cle  Trafford  ought  to  have  conquered  it,  and 
she  determined  to  see  her  and  to  tell  her  so  herself. 
Very  early  the  next  morning  she  went  to  the  hotel 
where  Madame  de  Trafford  was  and  asked  to  see  her. 
She  was  refused  admittance,  but  she  insisted  upon 
waiting,  and  she  did  wait,  till  at  last  she  was  let  in. 
Madame  de  Trafford  was  then  quite  composed  and 
calm,  very  courteous,  very  kind,  very  like  other  peo- 
ple, and  my  aunt  said  that  in  entering  upon  her  sub- 
ject, it  was  like  accusing  a  sane  person  of  being 
perfectly  mad.  But  suddenly,  whilst  they  were  talk- 
ing, Madame  de  Trafford  glided  round  the  table,  and 
standing  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  seemed  to  rise  out 
of  herself,  and  in  her  terrible  voice,  every  syllable 
of  which  was  distinctly  audible  to  my  deaf  aunt 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  exclaimed  these  words 
—  "  Votre  niece  est  malade ;  elle  sera  encore  plus 
malade,  et  puis  elle  mourra,"  and  having  said  this, 


128  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

she  went  out  —  she  went  entirely  away  —  she  went 
straight  back  to  France.  She  had  fulfilled  the  mis- 
sion for  which  she  came  to  England,  and  the  next 
day  she  wrote  from  Beaujour  in  Touraine  to  pay  her 
I  till  at  the  hotel. 

Aunt  Eleanor  said  that  to  her  dying  day  that  awful 
voice  and  manner  of  Madame  de  Trarford  would  he 
present  to  her  mind. 

Looking  back  upon  the  past,  could  Esmeralda  and 
her  aunt  disbelieve  in  the  prediction  of  Madame  de 
Trafford  ?  Had  not  my  sister  in  her  desk  a  warning 
letter  which  had  told  the  day  and  hour  of  her  mother's 
death  ?  and  how  true  it  had  been  !  Yet  at  this  time 
her  going  to  Rome  seemed  quite  impossible ;  she 
could  not  go  away  whilst  all  her  law  affairs  were 
unwound  up,  indeed  even  then  in  the  most  critical 
state:  besides  that,  she  had  no  funds.  But  in 
November,  three  suits  in  Chancery  were  suddenly 
decided  in  her  favour.  By  two  of  these  my  sister 
recovered  £8000  of  her  mother's  fortune;  by  the 
third  she  secured  £3000  from  the  trustees  who  had 
signed  away  her  mother's  marriage  settlement.  So 
she  and  her  aunt  immediately  started  for  Rome, 
accompanied  by  Clemence  Boissy.  the  old  maid  of  her 
childhood,  whom  she  had  summoned  to  return  to  her 
immediately  on  her  recovering  an  income.  I  will 
give  a  few  extracts  from  Esmeralda's  letters  after 
this:  — 

"  Paris,  Nov.  At  last  we  did  start.  But  what  a  pack- 
ing! what  a  confusion!  .  .  .  Yesterday  I  saw  Madame 
Davidoff,1  as  enthusiastic  as  ever,  but  she  was  so  rushed 

'   Adelc  Madame  Davidoff.     See  vol.  i.  pp.  461,  500. 


1864]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  129 

upon  from  all  quarters,  that  I  could  not  get  a  quiet  talk. 
I  also  saw  the  Pere  tie  Poulevey,  the  great  friend  of  the 
Pere  de  Ravignan,  who  wrote  his  life.  .  .  .  And  now  you 
will  say  this  is  a  very  cheerful  letter,  and  on  the  contrary 
I  feel  very  sad,  and  very  sad  I  felt  at  the  Sacre  Coeur  and 
at  S.  Roch  this  morning.  Everything  I  see  brings  back 
the  past." 

"  Dec.  8,  1864,  Magon.  How  astonished  you  will  be  to 
see  the  date  of  this  place.  '  Why  are  you  not  in  Rome  by 
this  time  ?  '  you  will  exclaim.  Because  I  was  so  exhausted 
when  we  arrived  here  that  Auntie  agreed  that  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  take  a  long  rest,  give  up  the  Mont 
Cenis  and  proceed  slowly  by  Nice  and  Genoa. 

"  Villefranche,  which  is  about  an  hour's  drive  from  Ars, 
is  on  our  way  to  Lyons.  If  the  road  is  not  a  heavy  one, 
Auntie  and  I  shall  spend  the  Feast  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception  there  next  Thursday,  and  then  proceed  on  our 
journey.  The  mistress  of  the  hotel  here  has  been  back- 
wards and  forwards  to  Ars  for  upwards  of  twenty-five 
years,  and  constantly  talked  to  the  Cure'  d'Ars  and  heard 
him  preach.  '  Vous  ne  pouvez  pas  vous  imaginer, '  she 
says,  '  ce  que  c'e'tait  que  d'entendre  le  Cure  d'Ars  en 
chair ;  on  f ondait  en  larmes,  on  croyait  entendre  les  paroles 
de  notre  Seigneur  quand  il  enseignait  le  peuple.  C'e'tait 
peu  de  paroles,  mais  cela  remuait  jusqu'a  fond  de  l'ame. 
"Oh,  mes  enfants,"  disait  le  Cure',  "si  vous  pouviez  voir 
le  bon  Dieu  comme  je  le  vois,  combien  peu  de  chose  se- 
raient  a  vos  yeux  les  choses  de  cette  terre !  Ah !  si  vous 
connaissiez  l'amour  de  Dieu!  '  Et  puis  les  larmes  cou- 
laient  le  long  de  ses  joues.  II  pleurait  toujours  quand  il 
parlait  de  l'amour  de  Dieu.  Ce  n'etait  pas  un  grand 
orateur  que  Ton  ecoutait.  Oh!  non,  Mademoiselle, 
c'dtaient  seulement  quelques  paroles  qui  allaient  droit  au 
ceeur.  Vous  deviez  l'entendre  quand  il  faisait  son  eate*- 
chisme  a,  midi,  a  chaque  jour  un  sujet  nouveau.     L'e'glise 

VOL.  II.  —  9 


130  THE   STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

t'tait  toujours  pleine.  II  y  a  vingt-cinq  ans,  il  y  a  meme 
trente  ans,  I'on  parlait  du  Cure"  d'Ars  el  on  allaii  a  Ars. 
Le  Cun'  restait  dans  son  confessionnal,  jusqu'k  minuit 
quelquefois  jusqu'a  une  heure  de  matin.  Alors  il  sortait 
de  L'eglise  pour  prendre  deux  heuivs  de  repos.  Quatre 
femmes  de  la  campagne  se  tnettaient  aux  ([iiatre  coins  pour 
empeeher  le  monde  de  passer,  car,  an  tnoindre  bruit,  M.  le 
Cure  se  levail  el  sortait  de  suite:  ces  femmes  de  la 
campagne  etaient  bien  devouees. 

"'  Un  jour  que  j'etais  dans  l'eglise  d'Ais,  le  Cure* 
s'e'criait,  "Laissez  passer  cette  dame, "  d^signant  du  doigt 
une  dame  an  ehapcau  vert  —  "laissez-la  passer."  Un  jour 
une  autre  fois  il  me  vit ;  il  (lit  a  la  foule  qui  se  pres- 
sait  autour  de  lui,  "  Laissez  passer  cette  dame,  car  elle 
n'est  pas  d'ici,  il  faut  qu'elle  parte,"  —  et  ainsi  j'ai  pu 
m'approcher  et  lui  parler.  J'allais  voir  le  Cun'  d'Ars, 
bien  maladed'une  maladiedes  nerfs  a  la  suite  de  la  maladie 
de  ma  fille.  "Vous  etes  bien  souffrante, "  (lit  le  Cure, 
"vous  ne  voulez  pas  encore  mourir;  c'est  pour  vos  enfants 
que  vous  d^sirez  vivre:  c'est  bien,"  dit-il,  "c'est  bien; 
vous  serez  encore  malade  aussi  longtemps  que  vous  l'avez 
<5te\  et  puis  vous  serez  bien."  En  eft'et,  il  y  avait  liuit 
limis  que  je  souffrais,  et  huit  mois  apres  je  fus  gudrie — 
tel  que  M.  le  Curd  d'Ars  m'avait  dit. ' 

" '  Le  Vicaire-General, '  said  the  mistress,  '  m'a  racontd 
ceci  lui-meme,  avec  des  larmes  aux  yeux.  II  a  loge*  ici 
une  unit:  c'est  alors  qu'il  me  l'a  raconte\  "Madame," 
dit-il,  "  je  ne  pouvais  croire  a  tout  ce  que  j'entendis  d'Ars. 
Je  croyais  que  ces  paysans  etaient  exalte"s.  Je  voulus 
done  voir  en  personne:  je  me  rendis  a  Ars.  J'arrivai 
done  a  Ars.  II  y  avait  beaucoup  de  monde.  J'v  suis 
reste*  deux  jours.  Voici  ce  qui  est  arrive-.  Je  quittais 
l'eglise  avec  M.  le  Cure\  J'allais  avec  lui  vers  sa  petite 
maison.  En  arrivant,  la  vieille  cuisiniere  ou  bonne  du 
Cure"  vient  a  notre  rencontre.  '  Ah!  M.  le  Cure','  dit-elle, 
'  nous  n'avons  plus  rien,  nous  ne  pouvons  plus  donner. '  — 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  131 

'  Donnez, '  rdpondit  M.  le  Cure,  '  dormez  toujours. '  —  '  Mais 
nous  ne  pouvons  pas,'  clit  encore  la  vieille  femme,  '  il  n'y 
a  rien,  rien, '  repe'tait-elle.  M.  le  Cure  e'tait  vif.  Com- 
bien  il  lui  a  coute  pour  pouvoir  se  moderer.  — '  Donnez, 
donnez  toujours  par  poignees, '  dit-il  encore.  '  Comment, ' 
repondit  la  vieille,  '  comment  voulez-vous  que  je  donne  ? 
il  n'y  a  rien.'  C'est  alors,"  dit  M.  le  Vieaire-General, 
uque  j'ai  dit  au  Cure,  '  Je  ferai  un  rapport  a  Monseigneur 
l'Eveque,  je  suis  sur  qu'il  vous  enverra  pour  vos  pauvres. ' 
Le  Cure  ne  rdpondit  pas;  il  tit  comme  un  mouvement 
d'impatience.  '  Montez  au  grenier, '  dit-il  a  la  vieille 
cuisiniere,  '  et  donnez,  donnez  toujours  aux  pauvres.' 
Cette  fois  elle  obdit.  Elle  court,  elle  ouvre  la  porte  du 
grenier.  Elle  descend  aussi  vite;  le  grenier  etait  tout 
plein.  '  Ah,  M.  le  Cure,  si  c'est  ainsi, '  dit-elle,  k  nous 
pouvons  toujours  donner. '  Ce  fait,"  dit  M.  le  Vicaire, 
"  je  l'ai  vu  de  mes  yeux,  et  les  larmes  remplissaient  ses 
yeux  en  me  le  racontant."  ' 

"Miraculous  cures  are  still  constantly  occurring. 
Clemence  is  going  to-morrow  to  find  out  for  me  a  boy 
whose  limbs  were  distorted  and  who  was  made  whole.  I 
wish  to  hear  from  his  own  lips  about  the  wonderful  cure ; 
but  here  people  are  accustomed  to  all  this,  and  any  par- 
ticular miraculous  cure  does  not  strike  them  as  extraordi- 
nary. The  facts  in  this  case  are  that  the  boy  was  the  son 
of  a  baker,  eight  years  old,  who,  with  limbs  all  distorted 
and  suffering  acutely,  was  carried  by  his  parents  to  Ars. 
The  Vicar-General  and  several  of  the  clergy  were  at  the 
church-door  when  the  carriage  drove  up  with  this  poor 
cripple  in  it.  His  mother  carried  him  to  the  altar-rail  and 
endeavoured  to  place  him  on  his  knees,  but  the  boy  could 
hardly  keep  himself  in  a  kneeling  posture  owing  to  his 
distorted  limbs,  and  seemed  to  swing  first  to  the  right  and 
then  to  the  left.  When  mass  was  ended  he  said,  4  I  am 
better, '  and  was  led,  being  supported,  to  the  hotel,  where 
he  was  laid  upon  a  bed.     His  mother,  remaining  in  the 


L32  THE   STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1864 

room,  after  a  while  saw  him  looking  upward  intently,  and 
for  a  long  time  he  continued  as  if  gazing  at  something 
above  him.  She  called  her  husband  and  said,  k  Come  and 
see  our  child  Looking  upwards;  what  is  he  looking  at?' 
Suddenly  the  hoy  turned  towards  his  mother  and  said, 
'Lift  me  off  the  bed;  I  think  that  I  am  well  and  that  I 
can  walk,'  —  and  so  it  was:  she  lifted  him  on  to  the  floor, 
and  the  boy  was  cured,  and  has  been  well  from  that  hour, 
and  lives  opposite  this  hotel  at  the  baker's  shop. 

"The  mistress  told  me  —  '  Un  jour  le  Cur£  d'Ars  alia 
voir  nn  cure  de  Lyon  qu'on  dit  etre  saint.  "Vous  pren- 
drez  ma  place,"  dit-il.  "Vous  ferez  encore  plus  de  con- 
versions."'* I  am  going  to  Lyons  to  try  to  find  out  this 
cure.  At  Maqon  also  there  is  a  certain  '  Cure'  de  S.  Pierre, ' 
who  is  greatly  beloved,  and  of  whom  many  beautiful  stories 
are  told. 

"  I  think  of  you  at  different  times  in  the  day,  and  try  to 
picture  you,  sometimes  in  the  study,  sometimes  reading 
to  Aunt  Augustus,  sometimes  late  in  the  evening  sitting 
on  the  large  sofa,  with  all  your  manuscripts  on  the  table, 
and  good  Lea  coming  in  to  put  up  the  curtains.  When 
I  think  of  all  the  late  family  troubles,  I  try  to  remember 
that  God  never  allows  anything  to  happen,  however  pain- 
ful, unless  it  is  for  our  good.  It  depends  on  ourselves  to 
make  use  of  every  trial,  so  I  trust  that  you  may  be  able  to 
forgive  and  forget  —  the  last  is  the  more  difficult. 

"...   You  expect  too  much  good  from Do  not 

expect  too  much.  We  must  leave  those  to  flutter  like 
sparrows  who  cannot  soar  like  eagles.  It  is  S.  Ambrose 
who  says  so." 

My  sister  next  wrote  from  Avignon  :  — 

"Dec.  11,  1864.  Not  further  than  Avignon!  I  was  ill 
at  Lyons  and  could  not  go  on.  There  I  had  a  most  agree- 
able visitor,  a  M.  Gabet,  very  zealous  in  the  ceuvres  de  la 


1865] 


HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER 


TOO 


oo 


Propagation  de  la  Foi.  He  spent  two  evenings  with  us, 
and  told  us  much  that  was  very  interesting.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  lately  received  a  donation  from  Dahomey,  and 
he  corresponds  with  missionaries  in  every  part  of  the 
world.  Auntie  went  up  to  the  convent  to  fetch  two  friends 
of  mine  who  were  staying  there,  and  I  have  been  given  a 
small  medal  of  the  Cure'  d'Ars  blessed  by  himself." 


.»'    .DE 


ARS.1 


My  sister  did  not  reach  Rome  till  the  second  week 
in  January. 

"Jan.  16,  1865.  We  arrived  late  on  Tuesday  night, 
coming  voiturier  from  Leghorn,  two  long  days,  and  very 
fatiguing.  When  we  arrived  at  Leghorn  a  violent  storm 
was  raging,  and  we  were  obliged  to  give  up  going  by  sea, 
only  sending  Leonardo  with  the  luggage.  Auntie,  Vic- 
toire,  Cldmence,  and  I  travelled   in  a  tolerable  carriage. 

1  From  "South-Eastern  France." 


l:;i  THE   STORY  OF  MY  LIFE  [1865 

There  are  so  few  travellers  thai  way,  that  at  Orbetello, 
where  we  slept,  the  excitement  was  intense,  the  women 
wishing  to  examine  dress  and  coiffure,  to  know  the  ultima 
moda.  The  carriage  was  quite  mobbed,  the  voiturier  hav- 
ing declared  it  was  a  gran  signora.  '  La  vogliamo  vedere, ' 
the  people  cried  out,  and  pushed  and  struggled.  It  seemed 
so  strange  to  return  to  a  country  where  so  little  could 
create  such  an  excitement.  I  was  carried  upstairs,  so  ter- 
ribly tired  with  the  incessant  shaking.  We  slept  also  at 
Civita  Vecchia.  whence  Victoire  and  ('lenience  went  on  to 
Rome  by  an  early  train,  Auntie  and  I  following  late.  It 
was  quite  dark  as  we  drove  up  to  the  Parisani,  and  the 
streets  seemed  perfectly  silent.  The  porter  came  out  say- 
ing k  Ben  tornata, '  and  then  his  wife,  with  a  scarlet  hand- 
kerchief over  her  head,  exclaiming  '  Ben  tornata  '  also,  and 
we  came  upstairs  without  being  heard  by  any  one  else.  I 
rushed  through  the  rooms,  throwing  open  one  door  after 
another.  In  the  little  sitting-room  ("lenience  and  Victoire 
were  sitting  together,  a  look  of  misery  on  Loth  faces. 
When  I  reached  my  own  room  I  fell  upon  a  chair:  I  could 
scarcely  breathe.  I  heard  Victoire  cry  out,  '  Mon  Dieu! 
courage;  c'est  la  volonte  de  Dieu:  l'heure  de  votre  mere 
a  sonne',  l'heure  aussi  du  mari  de  ('lenience  a  sonneV  She 
poured  something  down  my  throat  and  rubbed  my  hands, 
and  brought  me  round  by  degrees.  Clenience  was  sobbing 
violently  for  the  old  husband,  whose  death  she  had  learnt 
on  her  arrival;  Auntie  was  standing  looking  from  one  to 
the  other,  as  if  she  did  not  realise  how  terrible  was  that 
evening:  she  had  hoped  that  the  joy  of  seeing  Lome  again 
would  make  me  forget  what  was  sad.  Poor  Victoire  had 
made  one  great  effort,  and  then  she  could  scarcely  speak 
for  hours.  I  never  saw  such  devotion  to  the  memory  of  a 
relation  or  friend  as  her  devotion  to  the  memory  of  dear 
Mama  :  and  then  there  was  so  much  to  remind  her  also  of 
the  good  Felix,  gone  to  his  rest  since  our  Roman  home 
was  broken  up.      I  had  dreaded  this    arrival   for  months, 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  135 

and  had  been  glad  to  put  it  off  from  week  to  week,  till  T 
could  put  it  off  no  longer.  Now  it  is  a  pleasure  to  Victoire 
to  unpack  Mama's  things  and  bring  them  to  me,  one  after 
another,  her  eyes  often  filled  with  tears,  and  then  she  says, 
trying  to  compose  herself,  l  Que  la  volonte  de  Dieu  soit 
faite. '  And  yet  I  cannot  wish  dear  Mama  back  again. 
What  I  had  lived  for  was  that  deathbed  —  that  it  should 
have  God's  blessing  and  that  her  soul  should  be  saved.  I 
used  to  think  hoio  glorified  that  soul  might  be,  after  so 
much  suffering,  if  only  at  death  resigned.  But  now  I 
am  going  back  to  past  thoughts,  instead  of  telling  my 
Augustus  about  the  present. 

"  The  old  beggar-woman  at  San  Claudio  rushed  towards 
me.  '  L'ho  saputo, '  she  said,  '  quella  benedetta  animal ' 
and  she  cried  also,  and  then  the  sacristan  of  San  Claudio, 
and  he  told  me  how  Mama  had  died  on  one  of  the  great 
days  of  San  Claudio  —  the  feast  of  Notre  Dame  de  Bon 
Conseil  —  our  Lady's  altar  under  that  title  being  the  altar 
where  Mama  had  knelt  for  so  many  years :  all  have  been 
struck  by  this." 

"  Feb.  9.  It  is,  as  you  say,  a  gathering  up  of  the  frag- 
ments that  remain.  I  am  beginning  to  feel  the  sense  of 
loneliness  in  these  desolate  rooms  less,  though  I  still  feel 
it  very  much.  I  do  not  wish  that  anything  should  be 
different  from  what  God  has  willed  it.  I  used  to  tell 
Mama  when  we  were  so  poor  how  strange  it  was  that  I 
never  felt  poor.  She  used  to  say  that  was  the  great  differ- 
ence between  herself  and  me,  that  she  felt  poor  and  I  did 
not;  why  not  she  could  never  understand.  I  feel  quite 
certain  that  Mama  would  never  have  liked  Rome  again; 
probably  she  never  would  have  returned  here,  and  perhaps 
it  was  necessary  that  through  suffering  she  should  be 
prepared  for  death  by  being  detached  from  the  things  of 
life. 

"Most  of  the  Romans  have   called,    some    paying   long 


I.Ili  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1865 

visits  —  Duchess  Sora,  Princess  Viano,  Prince  Doria, 
Dukes  Fiano  and  Sora.  In  fact,  a  day  aever  passes  with- 
out two  or  three  visitors.  I  have  made  three  devoted 
friends  —  the  Princess  Galitzin;  the  Padre  Pastacaldi,  a 
venerable  ecclesiastic  of  Pisa,  who  is  anxious  to  further 
my  views  in  establishing  a  particular  association  for  raising 
funds  for  the  Church;  and  lastly,  Don  Giovanni  jNlerl in i, 
the  friend  of  k  the  Venerable  '  *  for  thirty  years,  who  has 
already  paid  me  four  visits.  These  visits  are  quite  delight- 
ful: I  always  feel  I  am  in  the  presence  of  a  saint.  His 
language  is  most  beautiful.  Yesterday  he  gave  me  his 
blessing  in  the  most  solemn,  earnest  maimer,  laying  his 
hand  on  my  head.  I  have  heard  from  him  so  much  of  the 
Venerable  del  Bufalo.  ...  A  great  storm  has  swept  over 
the  nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood:  it  nearly  swept  them  out 
of  England,  hut  instead  of  that  they  are  to  move  to  the 
Italian  Church  of  S.  Pietro  in  Bloomsbury.  I  have  had 
a  great  deal  of  correspondence  about  them." 

"March  4.  The  friend  of  the  Venerable2  came  to-day, 
and  we  planned  together  work  for  the  nuns  in  London,  — 
a  great  work  I  have  wished  to  see  established  since  early 
in  1858.  Again  he  gave  me  his  solemn  blessing.  He 
spoke  of  poverty  —  voluntary  poverty,  but  said  that  all 
were  not  called  to  that '  spogliamento. '  Then  1  told  him 
that  I  had  also  been  poor,  and  he  looked  around  at  the 
decorations  of  the  room  and  said  simply  k  Iddio  ci  ha  rime- 
diato. '  His  is  certainly  a  beautiful  face  from  its  expres- 
sion: there  is  so  much  light  about  it,  and  such  simplicity 
and  humility.  Pierina 3  certainly  ought  to  be  saint-like, 
since   she   has   been  trained   to  a   religious  life  by  such  a 


man." 


1  The  Venerable  Gaspare  del  Bufalo,  to  whose  influence  the  foun- 
dation of  the  Oiilcr  dl'  the  Precious  Blood  was  due. 
-  Don  Giovanni  Merlini  of  the  Oocifevi. 
:;  .Mary    Pierina  Roleston,  Superior  of  the  Order  of  the  Precious 


Blood  in  England. 


1SG5]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  137 

"March  9.  During  my  mother's  illness  I  often  thought 
of  the  80, 000  who  die  daily,  and  who  have  to  appear  before 
the  judgment-seat  and  who  are  found  wanting.  Some- 
times, when  I  am  alone,  I  think  how  in  every  moment 
which  I  am  idling  away  a  soul  has  been  judged,  and  per- 
haps a  prayer  could  have  saved  that  soul.  Oh!  in  your 
watchings  beside  the  sick-bed,  ask  forgiveness  for  the  souls 
that  are  then  passing  away  from  the  earth,  that  they  may 
be  counted  amongst  the  blessed  for  eternity.  ...  It  is 
strange  what  mental  agony  one  can  live  through.  A  sort 
of  supernatural  strength  is  given  when  it  is  required,  and 
is  it  not  another  proof  of  the  watchful  tenderness  of  our 
Blessed  Lord  ?  It  is  so  true,  that  when  a  soul  is  ready  for 
the  change,  death  is  only  an  entering  on  the  perfected 
life.  ...  I  believe  that  God  has  still  blessings  left  for 
my  brother:  His  blessings  can  never  be  exhausted." 

"May  3.  How  you  will  envy  me  when  you  hear  that 
the  saint  of  Acuto,  the  Rev.  Mother-General  of  the  Precious 
Blood,  is  coming  to  Rome  at  the  end  of  the  week  and  is 
coming  to  see  me.  The  Father-General  came  to  give  me 
his  welcome  news,  when  I  was  wondering  and  planning 
how  I  could  get  to  Acuto  with  my  weak  back.  I  have 
beo^ed  for  two  visits  at  least.  ...  I  have  constant  letters 
from  the  Rev.  Mother  of  the  Precious  Blood  in  London 
about  the  new  work  of  her  nuns.  I  have  been  thinking 
of  writing  the  life  of  the  Venerable  del  Bufalo.  Don 
Giovanni  Merlini,  the  Father-General,  promises  help  and 
materials,  and  the  Italian  life  is  very  poor.  The  Taigi  and 
Bufalo  lives  would  come  out  so  well  together,  as  they 
lived  at  the  same  time,  and  died,  I  believe,  in  the  same 
year,  though  quite  independent  of  each  other,-  but  I  have 
not  the  gift  of  writing  —  there  is  the  difficulty. 

"  On  the  25th  there  was  an  anniversary  High  Mass  and 
a  very  beautiful  choir  for  dearest  Mama,  Monseigneur 
Level  attending,    and  many  friends.     Mrs.    Monteith   sat 


138  THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

next  to  me,  and  felt  it  so  much,  she  cried  nearly  the  whole 
time.  It  is  so  beautiful  this  love  for  the  dead  in  the 
Catholic  Church. 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Wagner,  who  says  jnst 
thai  which  struck  me  in  one  of  Father  Gal  way's  sermons, 
when  he  spoke  of  parents'  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  their  chil- 
dren, thai  they  are  to  look  upon  them  as  gifts  lent  for  a 
time.  She  says,  '  We  do  not  repine,  but  render  back  with 
thankfulness  the  gift  lent  us  for  a  season." 

"To-day  I  had  a  beautiful  simple  note  from  the  Father- 
General  of  the  Precious  Blood.  I  wrote  to  thank  him  for 
several  things  he  had  sent  me.  His  answer  was,  '  Do  not 
thank  me;  it  suffices  me  that  you  love  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  I  bless  you  from  my  heart.  Pray  for  me'  miser- 
able.' I  thought  how  my  Augustus  would  have  liked  this 
note." 

My  sister  during  the  whole  of  this  winter  very 
seldom  left  the  house,  and  never  went  into  society. 
Political  differences,  however,  rendered  Roman  society 
at  this  time  less  pleasant  than  before.  Esmeralda 
wrote  —  "  The  usual  conversation  goes  on,  but  all 
parties  are  divided  and  contradictory:  the  Pope 
(Pius  IX.)  alone  is  perfectly  calm,  and  trusts  in  Prov- 
idence whilst  the  world  is  raging  and  storming  and 
plotting."  If  Esmeralda  went  out,  it  was  generally 
to  the  Villa  Ludovisi,  where  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
Sora  were  living  in  a  sort  of  honourable  banishment, 
the  Duke's  parents,  the  Prince  and  Princess  Piombino, 
having  been  exiled  to  Tuscany.  The  Duchess  Sora 
used  to  talk  to  my  sister  of  the  patriarchal  life  in  her 
great  "  villa,"  where  there  were  so  many  small  farm- 
houses and  cottages  within  the  grounds,  that  it  gave 
her  occupation    enough    to  visit   their   inmates   and 


1865]  HOME    LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  139 

learn  their  characters.  She  said  that  she  brought  up 
her  children  amongst  the  people  within  the  walls  of 
the  villa,  that  they  might  thus  early  learn  to  know 
thoroughly  those  who  would  depend  on  them  after- 
wards. She  let  them  call  one  man  after  another 
to  work  in  their  little  gardens,  that  they  might  thus 
make  individual  acquaintance  with  each.  On  Good 
Friday,  when  the  chaplain  called  in  all  the  work- 
people to  prayer,  there  were  seventy  in  the  chapel, 
including  the  Duke  and  herself,  and  all,  as  it  were, 
one  great  family.1 

One  of  the  people  who  most  rejoiced  over  Esme- 
ralda's return  to  Rome  was  Giacinta  Facchini,  com- 
monly known  as  "the  Saint  of  St.  Peter's."  This 
extraordinary  woman  lived  for  forty  years  in  St. 
Peter's  without  ever  leaving  it,  devoting  herself  to 
incessant  prayer  and  sleeping  in  a  cell  in  one  of  the 
pillars.  When  people  had  any  particular  object  in 
view,  they  used  to  go  down  to  St.  Peter's  and  ask  her 
to  pray  for  it.  Esmeralda  used  constantly  during  her 
prosperity,  to  go  to  visit  her  in  St.  Peter's,  and  she 
would  remain  with  her  for  hours.  At  length  one 
day  the  confessor  of  the  saint  came  to  her  and  said 
that  now,  though  she  had  lived  in  St.  Peter's  for 
forty  years,  she  would  be  showing  a  far  more  real 
devotion  to  God  and  a  more  lowly  spirit  if  she  were 
to  break  through  the  life  which  was  beginning  to 
make  her  celebrated,  and  return  to  the  humble  service 

1  Alas !  after  the  Sardinian  occupation  of  Rome,  the  Soras,  then 
Prince  and  Princess  Piombino,  were  induced  to  sell  all  the  grounds 
of  Villa  Ludovisi,  the  noblest  ornament  of  Rome ;  its  magnificent 
groves  of  ilex  and  cypress  were  cut  down,  and  hideous  stucco  houses 
built  over  its  site. 


140  THE   STORY  OF   MY  LIFE  [1865 

of  God  in  the  world.  Giacinta  Facchini  obeyed,  and 
after  thai  she  often  used  to  go  to  sec  my  sister  at  the 
Palazzo  Parisani.  But  she  still  spent  the  greater  part 
of  her  time  in  St.  Peter's,  where  I  have*  often  seen  her 
quaint  figure,  in  a  half  nun's  dress,  bowed  in  prayer  be- 
Ei  ire  one  of  the  altars,  or  perfectly  prostrate  on  the  pave- 
ment in  silent  adoration  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 

Here  are  a  few  extracts  from  Esmeralda's  private 
meditations  at  this  time:  — 

"Let  me  offer  myself  continually  with  all  I  have  for 
the  greater  glory  of  God,  remembering  the  words  of  St. 
[gnatius,  that  '  having  received  everything  from  God,  we 
ought  to  be  ever  ready  to  render  back  all  that  He  lias 
given  us.'  The  propensity  most  opposed  to  the  reign  of 
Jesus  in  our  souls  is  the  want  of  resolution  in  all  matters 
connected  with  spiritual  advancement.  Kneeling  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross,  let  me  make  war  against  all  my  evil  pro- 
pensities; that  I  maybe  purified  and  strengthened  in  God's 
love,  let  me  seek  to  detach  myself  from  everything,  exterior 
and  interior,  that  separates  me  from  God. 

"  Self-love  must  be  overcome  by  mortification  of  self,  by 
asking  of  God  to  give  us  I  lis  love,  to  fill  us  with  His  love, 
for  if  the  love  of  God  Jills  our  hearts,  self-love  must  be 
rooted  out.  Let  me  ask  of  our  Lord  that  I  may  have  the 
same  resolution  in  spiritual  matters,  and  in  the  carrying 
out  and  on  of  a  spiritual  life,  which  1  have  where  a  tem- 
poral matter  is  concerned.  Oh!  with  what  zeal  and 
earnestness  can  I  pursue  a  temporal  object,  with  the  same 
zeal  and  earnestness  may  I  carry  out  my  resolutions  for  a 
spiritual  life." 

''''Jan.  14,  1865.  Unless  Ave  can  build  up  a  solitude 
in  our  hearts,  completely  detaching  ourselves  from  the 
love  of   everything  in  this  world,  we   can  never  hope  to 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  141 

attain  to  that  spiritual  joy  which  is  a  preparation  for  the 
life  of  Jesus  in  our  souls,  a  preparation  for  the  resurrection 
to  eternal  life." 

"  March  4.  Where  there  is  such  a  strong  attachment  to 
this  life,  my  will  cannot  be  perfectly  united,  to  the  Divine. 
Oh !  how  many  steps  there  are  in  the  ladder  of  a  spiritual 
life !  Detachment  from  this  life  must  gradually  lead  to 
the  union  of  my  will  with  the  Divine  and  to  the  entire 
indwelling  of  the  love  of  Jesus  in  my  soul." 

"  March  17.  By  the  light  of  the  wounds  of  Jesus  Christ, 
may  I  search  the  innermost  folds  of  my  heart,  and  cast  out 
all  that  is  contrary  to  charity  and  humility.  '  We  must 
study  in  the  book  of  Charity  more  than  in  any  other: 
that  book  teaches  us  all  things;  '  these  are  the  words  of 
S.  Dominic." 

"March  30.  May  filial  love  of  God  take  the  place  of 
servile  fear  in  our  hearts ;  then  will  our  Lord  draw  nigh 
to  us  and  replenish  us  with  His  grace.  When  filial  love 
has  closed  the  door  against  all  earthly  thoughts,  then  shall 
we  return  into  that  inward  solitude  in  which  our  Lord 
loves  that  we  should  dwell,  to  seek  Him  and  commune 
with  Him." 

"April  1.  I  ask  for  the  grace  of  a  pure  love  of  God. 
The  more  we  can  leave  off  thinking  of  ourselves,  the 
nearer  we  shall  attain  to  that  union  with  our  Lord  which 
the  saints  speak  of  —  loving  Him  only  and  entirely,  because 
He  first  loved  us.  In  proportion  as  our  confidence  in  God 
increases,  and  we  can  lay  aside  all  confidence  in  ourselves, 
we  shall  attain  purity  of  intention  in  all  our  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions.  Let  us  seek  that  purity  of  intention 
which  can  only  follow  confidence  in  God,  and  can  only 
exist  in  those  souls  which  unite  themselves  entirely  t<> 
God." 


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144  THE   STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

gel  up  when  the  King-  came  in.  The  King  and  Queen 
always  came  quite  simply  in  a  carriage  and  four  with  the; 
prickers  riding  before  in  crimson  liveries.  There  was  a 
particular  point  in  the  avenue  at  which  the  prickers  were 
visible  from  the  windows,  and  when  they  were  seen,  my 
grandfather  used  to  ring  the  bell  and  ask  if  there  was  a 
round  of  beef  in  the  house.  He  was  generally  answered 
in  the  affirmative,  and  then  it  was  all  right,  for  none  of  the 
royal  party  took  luncheon,  only  the  Queen  used  to  have 
a  particular  kind  of  chocolate  brought  to  her:  my  father 
generally  offered  it  on  a  tray,  after  they  had  been  about 
half-an-hour  in  the  house.  They  used  to  take  an  interest 
in  everything,  and  if  any  one  ventured  to  rehang  their 
pictures,  they  would  say,  '  Mr.  So-and-so,  why  have  you 
rehung  your  pictures?'  I  remember  the  King  one  day 
asking  my  grandfather  if  he  had  read  the  memoirs  which 
every  one  was  talking  about  at  that  time.  They  were 
those  of  the  Due  de  St.  Simon,  La  Grande  Mademoiselle, 
&c,  and  my  father  said  no,  he  had  not  seen  them.  The 
King  came  again  within  the  fortnight,  and  my  grandfather 
did  not  see  him  coming  down  the  avenue,  nor  did  he  know 
the  King  was  in  the  house,  till  there  was  a  kind  of  fumbling 
outside  the  door,  and  the  King,  who  would  not  let  any 
one  come  to  help  him,  opened  the  door,  with  a  great  pile 
of  volumes  reaching  from  his  waist  to  his  chin,  saying, 
1  Here,  Mr.  Grenville,  I  have  brought  you  the  books  we 
were  talking  about.'  But  as  the  King  came  through  the 
door,  the  books  slipped  and  fell  all  about  on  the  floor:  my 
grandfather  could  not  move,  and  the  King  began  to  pick 
them  up,  till  some  one  came  to  help  him  and  put  them  on 
the  table  for  him. 

"The  scene  on  the  terrace  at  Windsor  on  Sundays  was 
the  prettiest  thing.  It  was  considered  proper  that  every 
one  in  the  neighbourhood  who  could  should  go ;  those  who 
were  in  a  position  of  life  to  be  presented  at  court  stood 
in    the    foremost  rank.     The  presence    of   the   King  was 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE    MOTHER  145 

announced  by  the  coming  of  '  Lavender, '  a  kind  of  police- 
man-guard, who  used  to  clear  the  way  and  always  preceded 
the  royal  family;  he  was  the  only  kind  of  guard  they  had. 
The  Queen  wore  evening  dress,  a  sort  of  cap  with  a  string 
of  diamonds,  and  a  loose  flowing  kind  of  gown;  there  was 
no  such  thing  then  as  demi-toilette.  After  her  came  the 
princesses,  or  any  of  the  princes  who  happened  to  have 
come  down  from  London,  or,  on  fine  days,  some  of  the 
Cabinet  Ministers.  The  royal  family  stopped  perpetually 
and  talked  to  every  one.  I  remember  the  King  coming 
up  to  me  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl,  and  dreadfully 
frightened  I  was.  '  Well,  now, '  said  the  King,  '  and  here 
is  this  little  girl.  Come,  my  dear,  take  off  your  bonnet, ' 
he  said  (for  I  wore  a  poke),  and  then  he  added,  '  I  wanted 
to  see  if  you  were  like  your  mother,  my  dear. ' 

"  It  was  Miss  Burney  who  gave  the  impression  of  Queen 
Charlotte  as  being  so  formidable.  Nothing  could  be  more 
false ;  she  was  the  kindest  person  that  ever  lived,  and  so 
simple  and  unostentatious.  The  fact  was  that  Miss  Burney 
had  been  spoilt  by  having  been  made  a  sort  of  queen  in 
Dr.  Johnson's  court.  The  day  ;  Evelina  '  came  out  Dr. 
Johnson  said  to  her,  '  Miss  Burney,  die  to-night, '  meaning 
that  she  had  reached  the  highest  point  of  fame  which  it 
was  possible  to  attain.  Queen  Charlotte  made  her  one  of 
her  readers,  for  she  was  passionately  fond  of  being  read  to 
while  she  worked.  But  Miss  Burney  was  one  of  those 
people  afflicted  with  mauvaise  honte.  She  could  not  read 
a  bit,  and  the  Queen  could  not  hear  a  word  she  said. 
'  Mama  the  Queen, '  said  the  Duchess  of  Gloucester  to  me, 
'  never  could  bear  Miss  Burney,  poor  thing!  '  So  the 
Queen  invented  some  other  place  in  her  extreme  kindness 
to  Miss  Burney,  to  prevent  having  to  send  her  away,  and 
in  that  place  Miss  Burney  was  obliged  to  stand. 

"An  instance  of  Queen  Charlotte's  extreme  kindness  was 
shown  when  she  made  Lady  Elizabeth  Montagu  one  of  her 
ladies-in-waiting,  out  of  her  great  love  to  Lady  Cornwallis. 

VOL.  II.  — 10 


14G  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1864 

When  Lady  Elizabeth  arrived  at  court,  the  Queen  sent 
for  her  and  said.  '  My  dear,  vmi  have  no  mother  here,  so 
I  must  beg  that  you  will  consider  me  as  your  mother,  and 
if  you  have  any  trouble  or  difficulty,  that  you  will  come 
to  me  at  once.'  When  Lady  Elizabeth  went  to  her  room. 
she  found  the  bed  covered  with  new  things  —  new  dresses, 
a  quantity  of  black  velvet  to  make  the  trains  which  were 
worn  then,  and  a  great  many  ornaments.  k  My  dear."  said 
the  Queen,  '  you  will  want  these  things,  and  it  will  he  a 
year  before  your  salary  is  due:  I  thought  it  might  not  be 
convenient  to  you  to  buy  them  just  now.  so  you  must 
accept  them  from  me." 

"Another  day,  when  Lady  Elizabeth  had  been  ill  in  the 
evening  and  unable  to  go  with  the  Queen  to  a.  concert, 
early  in  the  morning  she  heard  a  knock  at  her  door  while 
she  was  in  bed,  and  the  Queen  came  in  in  her  dressing- 
gown,  with  what  we  called  a  coinbing-cloth  (which  thc\ 
used  because  of  the  powder)  over  her  shoulders,  and  all 
her  hair  down.  *  May  1  come  in,  Lady  Elizabeth?'  sin- 
said.  '  I  heard  you  were  ill,  and  there  is  nothing  stirring 
to-day,  so  I  came  to  beg  that  you  will  not  think  of  getting 
up,  and  that  you  will  send  for  everything  you  can  wash 
for.  Pray  think  of  everything  that  it  is  right  for  you  to 
have."  " 


"Mrs.  Fry  came  to  Escfick  once,  and  was  pleased  to  see 
our  gardens  and  the  few  little  things  we  had  to  show  her. 
'  Friend  Caroline,  I  like  thy  pig-styes,'  she  said/' 

During  this  and  the  following  summer  I  was  often 
with  my  sister  in  London,  and  saw  much  of  her 
friends,  persons  who  have  been  entirely  lost  to  me, 
never  soon  again,  since  the  link  which  I  had  to  them 
in  her  has  been  broken.     Thus  at  Esmeralda's  house 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  147 

I  often  saw  the  gentle  sisters  of  the  Precious  Blood 
and  their  sweet-looking  Mother,  Pierina  Roleston. 
She  was  utterly  ignorant  of  worldly  matters,  and 
entirely  governed  by  her  priests,  but  her  own  char- 
acter was  of  a  simplicity  much  like  that  of  the  Cure 
d'Ars.  She  once  described  to  me  Maria  de  Matthias, 
and  the  story  of  the  foundation  of  her  Order. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  could  see  the  Mother-General :  she  is 
so  simple,  such  a  primitive  person.  When  she  wants  any 
thing,  she  just  goes  away  and  talks  to  our  Blessed  Lord, 
and  He  gives  it  to  her.  Sometimes  the  nuns  come  and  say 
to  her,  '  What  can  we  do,  Mother?  we  have  no  flour, 
we  cannot  bake;  '  and  she  answers,  l  Wiry  should  you  be 
troubled?  Are  not  the  granaries  of  our  Master  always 
full  ?  We  will  knock  at  them,  and  He  will  give  us  some- 
thing. ' 

"  One  day  there  was  nothing  at  all  left  at  Acuto :  there 
was  no  bread,  and  there  was  no  money  to  buy  any.     But 
Mother-General  had   just  that  simple  faith  that  she  was 
not  at  all   troubled  by  it,  and  she  even  brought  in  live 
additional  persons,  five  workmen  who  were  to  make  some 
repairs  which  were  necessary  for  the  convent.      When  they 
came,  she  made  the  nuns  come  into  the  chapel,  and  she 
said,  '  Now,  my  children,  you  know  that  we  have  nothing 
left,  and  we  must  pray  to  our  Master  that  He  will  send  us 
something ;  '  and  she  herself,  going  up  to  the  altar,  began 
to  talk  to  Our  Blessed  Lord  and  to  tell  Him  all  her  needs. 
t  Dear  Lord, '  she  said,  '  Ave  have  nothing  to  eat,  and  I  am 
just  come  to  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  to  ask  you  to  send 
us  something;  and  I  am  in  debt  too,  dear  Lord.      I   owe 
twenty-five  scudi  for  your  work ;   will  you  send  it  to  me  ?  ' 
and  so  she  continued  to  talk  to  Our  Blessed  Lord,  just 
telling  Him  all  she  wanted. 

"  At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a 


14S  TUP:   STORY   OP    MY    LIFE  [1864 

young  man  put  a  paper  into  the  portress's  hand,  only  say- 
ing these  words  — "  Pray  tor  the  benefactor. '  The  portress 
brought  the  paper  to  the  Mother-General  in  the  chapel, 
and  she  opened  it  and  said,  '  My  children,  give  thanks: 
the  Master  has  sent  US  what  we  asked  for.'  It  was  the 
twenty-live  scndi.  Mother-General  was  not  surprised. 
She  knew  that  our  Blessed  Lord  heard  her,  and  she  felt 
sure  He  would  answer  her.  Soon  after  the  convent  bell 
rani;  for  the  dinner-hour.  The  nuns  were  coining  down- 
stairs, but  there1  was  nothing  for  them  to  eat.  The  Mother- 
General  said,  however,  that  the  Master  would  send  them 
something,  and  indeed,  as  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  the  door-bell  rang,  and  a  large  basket  of  food  was 
left  at  the  door,  sent  by  some  ladies  in  the  neighbourhood. 
'  See  how  our  Lord  has  sent  dinner  to  us,'  said  the  Mother- 
General. 

"The  Mother-General  is  an  educated  person,  really 
indeed  quite  learned,  considering  that  in  the  time  of  her 
youth  it  was  not  thought  well  to  teach  girls  much,  for  fear 
they  should  learn  anything  that  is  evil. 

"  When  the  Mother-General  was  a  young  person,  as 
Maria  de  Matthias  in  Vallecorso,  she  was  very  worldly 
and  gay.  But  she  heard  '  the  Venerable  '  (Gaspare  del 
Bufalo)  preach  in  Vallecorso,  and,  as  he  preached,  his  eye 
fixed  upon  her,  he  seemed  to  pierce  her  to  the  very  soul. 
When  she  went  home,  she  cut  off  all  her  hair  except  the 
curls  in  front,  and  turned  her  gown  inside  out,  and  wore 
her  oldest  bonnet.  She  thought  to  please  our  Lord  in 
this  way,  and  she  remained  for  seven  years  shut  up  in  her 
father's  house,  but  all  that  time  she  was  not  satisfied,  and 
at  last  she  went  to  '  the  Venerable  '  and  asked  him  what 
she  was  to  do,  for  she  wished  to  do  something  for  our 
Blessed  Lord.  And  the  Venerable  said  to  her,  '  You  must 
go  to  Acuto,  and  there  you  will  be  told  what  you  must 
do.'  She  had  never  heard  of  Acuto,  but  she  went  to  a 
friend    of   hers,  also    named    Maria,   and   inquired    where 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH    THE   MOTHER  149 

Acuto  was,  for  she  was  ordered  to  go  there.  The  friend 
said  she  would  go  with  her,  and  ordered  out  her  horse, 
but  the  horse  was  a  wild  horse,1  and  she  did  not  know 
how  to  ride  it.  Maria  de  Matthias,  however,  went  up  to 
the  horse  and  patted  it,  saying,  k  You  must  not  be  wild, 
you  must  become  calm,  because  it  is  necessary  that  we 
should  go  to  Acuto:  you  and  1  have  to  go  in  obedience, 
and  I  cannot  walk,  for  it  is  twelve  hours'  journey.'  When 
the  Mother  had  thus  spoken  to  the  horse,  it  became  quite 
mild,  and,  hanging  down  its  head,  went  quite  gently,  step 
by  step,  and  the  Mother  rode  upon  it.  When  they  had 
gone  half-way,  she  wished  that  the  other  Maria  should 
ride,  and  the  Mother  got  off,  and  Maria  climbed  upon  a 
wall  to  mount  the  horse,  but  with  her  the  horse  would  not 
move  an  inch,  and  then  Maria  felt  it  was  not  our  Lord's 
will  that  she  should  mount  the  horse,  and  the  Mother  con- 
tinued to  ride  to  Acuto.  When  they  arrived,  and  the 
Mother  got  off  the  horse,  it  became  again  immediately 
quite  wild,  and  when  Maria  attempted  to  touch  it,  it  was 
in  such  a  fury  that  it  kicked  and  stamped  till  the  fire 
came  out  of  the  ground. 

"  The  priest  of  Acuto  was  waiting  to  receive  the  Mother, 
and  she  remained  there  teaching  a  school.  She  believed 
at  first  that  this  only  was  her  mission,  but  in  a  short  time 
the  children  began  to  call  her  '  Mother,'  and  to  ask  her  to 
give  them  a  habit.  The  first  nun  who  received  the  habit 
was  a  little  child  of  eight  years  old,  who  is  now  Mother 
Caroline,  Superior  of  the  Convent  at  Civita  Vecchia. 

"The  Mother-General  often  preaches,  and  she  preaches 
so  powerfully  that  even  the  priests  crowd  to  hear  her. 
When  the  people  see  her  come  forward  to  the  edge  of  the 
altar-steps  and  begin  to  speak,  they  say  '  Hark !  the  great 
Mother  is  going  to  talk  to  us, '  and  there  is  fixed  silence 
and  attention.  She  generally  begins  by  addressing  them 
as  '  Brothers  and  Sisters,'  and  then  she  teaches  them. 

1  I  give,  of  course,  the  words  of  Pierina. 


150  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1804 

"The  Mother-General  cannot  write.  When  she  is 
obliged  to  write  a  letter,  she  kneels  down  and  kisses  the 
feet  of  the  Crucifix  and  asks  Our  Lord  to  help  her,  and 
letters  of  hers  which  she  has  written  in  this  way,  in  the 
most  beautiful  hand,  are  [(reserved.  When  there  are  no 
flowers  l"i'  the  altar  she  says,  'Our  Master's  flowers  arc 
always  blooming;  He  will  send  us  some:"  and  that  day 
flowers  come. 

"After  her  death  Sister  Caterina  appeared  three  times 
to  Sister  Filomena,  and  begged  her  to  tell  the  Mother  not 
to  be  troubled,  for  that  the  Sisters  would  suffer  yet  for 
four  months  longer,  and  then  that  they  would  have  all  that 
they  needed.  That  day  four  months  Lady  Londonderry 
gave  ns  a  house. 

"'  The  Venerable  '  left  a  prophecy  that  an  English  sub- 
ject should  come  to  join  his  Order  in  Italy,  and  then  go 
back  to  found  the  female  Order  in  England.  When  1 
took  the  veil,  it  was  remembered  that  the  Venerable  had 
said  this. 

"Don  Giovanni  Merlini  used  to  accompany  '  the  Ven- 
erable *  on  his  missions.  The  Venerable  '  used  to  say, 
'  Take  care  of  Don  Giovanni,  for  he  is  a  saint.'  Don 
Giovanni  is  still  living  at  the  little  church  of  the  Crociferi 
near  the  Fountain  of  Trevi." 

At  this  time  my  sister  went  frequently  to  see  and 
consult  Dr.  Grant,  the  Bishop  of  Southwark.  She 
believed  him  to  be  quite  a  saint,  and  fancied  that  he 
had  the  gift  of  healing,  and  she  delighted  to  work  for 
others  under  his  direction.  But  Esmeralda  was 
always  willing  to  believe  in  or  to  find  out  saints  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  It  was  by  Dr.  Grant's 
advice,  I  believe,  that  she  went  to  visit  a  mm  of 
saintly  attributes  who  lived  near  him,  the  Soeur 
Marie    Anne.       Of   this    visit    she    wrote  :  — "  Soeur 


1864]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  151 

Marie  Anne  was  quite  full  of  canonizations  and  of  all 
that  was  going  on  about  the  Venerable  Lab  re,  because 
she  said  that  when  she  was  a  child,  she  had  once 
seen  him  as  a  venerable  pilgrim,  going  through  a 
village,  when  the  boys  stoned  him.  She  had  been  so 
struck,  so  saisie  by  his  appearance,  that  she  went  up 
to  him  and  said,  '  Forgive  me,  but  I  hope  that  you 
will  not  refuse  to  tell  your  name.'  — '  Labre,'  he  said 
and  the  name  Labre  had  stuck  by  her  to  that  day. 
She  implored  me  to  get  up  a  special  veneration  for 
the  Venerable  Labre,  but  I  said  that  I  really  coidd 
not  for  he  was  too  dirty." 

In  1863,  under  the  direction  of  her  priests,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  many  Catholic  friends,  Esme- 
ralda had  published  a  "  Manual  of  the  Dolours  of 
our  Lady,"  which  she  caused  to  be  translated  into 
almost  every  language  of  Europe  and  to  be  dissem- 
inated among  all  its  nations ;  this  she  did  through 
the  medium  of  foreign  converts.  In  her  "  retreats  " 
and  in  her  religious  life  Esmeralda  had  for  some 
years  been  brought  nearer  to  many  of  her  former 
friends  with  the  same  interests,  but  especially  to 
Lady  Lothian,  Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton,  and  to 
a  Miss  Bradley,  a  recent  pervert  to  the  Church  of 
Rome.  By  them  she  had  been  induced  to  join  the 
society  of  "  Les  Enfants  de  Marie ; "  a  society  of 
persons  united  together  by  special  acts  of  devotion 
to  the  Virgin,  and  works  of  charity  conducted  in  her 
honour.  In  sorrow,  faithfully  borne,  the  beauty  and 
power  of  holiness  had  become  hourly  more  apparent 
to  Esmeralda.  But  she  could  never  join  in  the  exag- 
geration which   led    many  of  these  ladies  to  invest 


L52  THE   STORY    OF    .MY    LIFE  [1864 

the  Virgin  with  all  the  attributes  of  our  Lord  Him- 
self, as  well  as  with  the  perfection  of  human  sym- 
pathies.  I  remember  as  rather  touching  that  when 
tin'  Dowager  Lady  Lothian  was  writing  to  Esmeralda 
about  her  son  as  being  so  "fearfully  Protestant/'  she 
said.  "It  is  very  trying  to  know  that  one  cannot 
share  one's  thoughts  with  any  one.  I  try  to  make 
our  dear  Mother  more  my  companion,  hut  I  am 
tempted  sometimes  to  remember  how  Our  Lady,  in 
all  her  sorrows,  never  can  have  had  that  of  anxiety 
about  her  son's  soul.  I  know  that  she  has  it  in  and 
for  us,  her  adopted  children,  but  she  never  can  have 
felt  it  about  Our  Lord." 

From  the  devotion  which  Esmeralda  felt  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  followed  her  especial  interest  in  the 
Order  of  the  Servites.  who  had  lately  been  estab- 
lished in  London,  and  who  always  wore  black  in 
sympathy  with  the  sorrows  of  Mary.  The  very 
name  had  an  interest  for  Esmeralda,  derived  as  it 
was  from  the  special  love  shown  to  the  Madonna  by 
seven  noble  Florentines,  the  founders  of  the  Order. 
which  induced  the  children  to  point  at  them  in  the 
streets,  saying,  "Guardate  i  servi  di  Maria."'  For 
the  Servites  Esmeralda  never  ceased  to  obtain  con- 
tributions. 

Another  confraternity  in  which  my  sister  had 
entered  herself  as  an  associate,  together  with  Lady 
Lothian  and  most  of  her  friends,  was  that  of  "  The 
Holy  Hour"  —  first  instituted  by  the  beatified  nun, 
Margaret  Mary  Alacoque  of  Paray  le  Monial,  a  con- 
vent near  Monceaux  les  Mines,1  for   which  her  ad- 

1  Paray  le  Monial,  now  so  constant  a  resort  of  pilgrimages,  was,  up 
In  this  time,  almost  unknown. 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  153 

mirers,  and  my  sister  amongst  them,  had  worked  a 
splendid  carpet,  to  cover  the  space  in  front  of  her 
altar.  The  rules  of  this  society  set  forth  that  it 
"  is  established  as  a  special  manner  of  sharing  the 
agony  of  our  Divine  Lord,  and  of  uniting  in  asso- 
ciated prayer  for  reparation  of  insults  offered  Him 
by  sin.  The  associates  of  this  devotion  thus  form 
a  band  of  faithful  disciples,  who  in  spirit  accom- 
pany our  Saviour  every  Thursday  night  to  the  scene 
of  His  agony,  and  share  more  particularly  that  watch 
which  Our  Blessed  Lady  and  the  Apostles  kept  on 
the  eve  of  the  Passion.  With  this  end  in  view,  the 
associates  spend  one  hour  of  Thursday  evening  hi 
mental  or  vocal  prayer  upon  the  Agony  in  the 
Garden,  or  other  mysteries  of  the  Passion.'"  Thus 
every  Thursday  night  my  sister  repeated  :  — 

"  O  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  kneeling  before  Thee  I  unite 
myself  to  Thy  Sacred  Heart  and  offer  myself  again  to  Thy 
service.  In  this  hour  when  Thou  wert  about  to  be  be- 
trayed into  the  hands  of  sinners,  I,  a  poor  sinner,  dare  to 
come  before  Thee  and  say,  fc  Yes,  Lord,  1  too  many  times 
have  betrayed  and  denied  Thee,'  but  Thou,  who  knowest 
all  things,  knowest  that  I  desire  to  love  Thee,  that  I  desire 
to  comfort  Thee  insulted  by  sin,  that  I  desire  to  watch 
with  Thee  one  hour,  and  to  cry  before  Thy  throne,  'O 
Lord,  remember  me  when  Thou  coniest  into  thy  king- 
dom ! '  And  therefore,  with  my  whole  heart,  I  now  prom- 
ise before  thee  — 

"When  the  mysteries  of  Thy  life  and  Passion  are 
denied :  the  more  firmly  will  I  believe  in  them  and  defend 
them  with  my  life. 

"When  the  spirit  of  unbelief,  coming  in  like  a  flood, 
seeks  to  quench  our  hope :  I  will  hope  in  Thee  and  take 
refuge  in  Thy  Sacred  Heart. 


154  THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE  [1864 

••  When  blinded  men  obstinately  shut  their  hearts  to 
Thy  love:  I  will  love  Thee  who  hast  shown  me  an  ever- 
lasting love. 

"  When  the  Majesty  and  power  of  Thy  Divinity  are 
denied:  I  will  say  to  Thee — day  by  day--*  My  Lord  and 
m\   God! ' 

"  When  Thy  law  is  broken  and  Thy  sacraments  pro- 
faned: I  will  keep  Thy  words  in  my  heart  and  draw  near 
to  thy  holy  altar  with  joy. 

"When  all  men  forsake  Thee  and  flee  from  Thy  ways: 
J  will  follow  Thee,  my  .Jesus,  up  the  way  of  sorrow,  striv- 
ing to  hear  Thy  cross. 

"When  the  evil  one,  like  a  roaring  lion,  shall  seek 
everywhere  the  souls  of  men:  1  will  raise  Thy  standard 
against  them  and  draw  them  to  Thy  Sacred  Heart. 

"  When  the  Cross  shall  be  despised  for  the  love  of  pleas- 
ure and  the  praise  of  men:  I  will  renew  my  baptismal 
vows,  and  again  renounce  the  devil,  the  world,  and  the 
flesh. 

"  When  men  speak  lightly  of  Thy  Blessed  Mother  and 
mock  at  the  power  of  Thy  Church  :  I  will  renew  my  love 
to  the  Mother  of  God,  hailing  her  as  "Our  life,  our  sweet- 
ness, and  our  hope,'  and  will  again  give  thanks  for  the 
Church  that  is  founded  upon  the  rock." 


At  my  sister's  house,  I  now,  at  least  on  one  occa- 
sion, met  each  of  my  brothers,  but  we  never  made 
the  slightest  degree  of  real  acquaintance ;  indeed,  I 
doubt  if  1  should  have  recognised  either  of  them  if  I 
had  met  him  in  the  street.  When  my  eldest  brother, 
Francis,  came  of  age,  he  had  inherited  the  old  Ship- 
ley property  of  Gresford  in  Flintshire,  quantities  of 
old  family  plate,  &c,  and  a  clear  £3000  a  year.  He 
was  handsome  and  clever,  a  good  linguist  and  a  toler- 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  155 

able  artist.  But  he  had  a  love  of  gambling,  which 
was  his  ruin,  and  before  he  was  seven-and-twenty 
(October  1857)  he  was  in  the  Queen's  Bench,  with- 
out a  penny  in  the  world,  with  Gresford  sold  — 
Hurstmonceaux  sold  —  his  library,  pictures,  and  plate 
sold,  and  £53,000  of  debts.  After  Francis  was 
released  in  1860,  he  went  to  join  Garibaldi  in  his 
Italian  campaign,  and  being  a  brave  soldier,  and, 
with  all  his  faults,  devoted  to  military  adventure  and 
impervious  to  hardships,  he  was  soon  appointed  by 
the  Dictator  as  his  aide-de-camp.  He  fought  bravely 
in  the  siege  of  Capua.  His  especial  duty,  however, 
was  to  watch  and  follow  the  extraordinary  Contessa 
della  Torre,  who  rode  with  the  troops,  and  by  her 
example  incited  the  Italians  to  prodigies  of  valour. 
Of  this  lady  Francis  said  — 

"  The  Contessa  della  Torre  was  exceedingly  handsome. 
She  wore  a  hat  and  plume,  trousers,  boots,  and  a  long 
jacket.  She  was  foolhardy  brave.  When  a  shell  exploded 
by  her,  instead  of  falling  on  the  ground  like  the  soldiers, 
she  would  stand  looking  at  it,  making  a  cigarette  all  the 
time.  The  hospital  was  a  building  surrounding  a  large 
courtyard,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  court  was  a  table  where 
the  amputations  took  place.  By  the  side  of  the  surgeon 
who  operated  stood  the  Contessa  della  Torre,  who  held  the 
arms  and  legs  while  they  were  being  cut  off,  and  when 
they  were  severed,  chucked  them  away  to  join  others  on  a 
heap  close  by.  There  were  so  many,  that  she  had  a  heap 
of  arms  on  one  side  of  her  and  a  heap  of  legs  on  the  other. 
The  soldiers,  animated  bjr  her  example,  often  sang  the 
Garibaldian  hymn  while  their  limbs  were  being  taken  off, 
though  they  fainted  away  afterwards. 

"  When  the    war  was   over,  the  Contessa   della  Torre 


156  THE   STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1864 

retired  to  Milan.  Her  first  husband,  the  Count  della 
Torre,  she  soon  abandoned  ;  her  second  husband,  Signor 
Martino,  a  rich  banker,  soon  abandoned  her.  Lately  she 
has  founded  a  Society  for  the  Conversion  of  the  Negroes 
of  Centra]  Africa,  of  which  she  appointed  herself  patron- 
ess, secretary,  and  treasurer;  and,  obtaining  an  English 
Clergy  List,  wrote  in  all  directions  for  subscriptions.  Of 
course  many  clergj  took  ao  notice  of  the  appeal,  hut  a 
certain  proportion  responded  and  sent  donations,  which  it 
is  needless  to  say  were  not  applied  to  Central  Africa." 

After  the  siege  of  Capua,  Francis  was  very  ill  with 
a  violent  fever  at  Naples,  and  then  remained  there 
for  a  long  time  because  he  was  too  poor  to  go  away. 
It  was  during  his  stay  at  Naples  that  he  formed  his 
friendship  with  the  K.'s,  about  which  my  sister  has 
left  some  curious  notes. 

"  When  Francis  first  went  to  Naples,  he  had  his 
pay,  was  well  to  do,  and  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Victoria. 
Amongst  the  people  who  were  staying  in  the  house  and 
whom  he  regularly  met  at  the  tnble-oVhdte^  were  an  old 
Mr.  K.  and  his  daughter.  Old  Mr.  K.  was  a  very  hand- 
some old  gentleman  and  exceedingly  pleasant  and  agree- 
able; Miss  K.  was  also  handsome,  and  of  very  pleasing 
manners:  both  were  apparently  exceedingly  well  off. 
After  some  time,  the  K.*s  went  to  Rome,  where  they 
passed  some  time  very  pleasantly.  When  they  returned, 
the  siege  of  Capua  was  taking  place,  and  it  was  a  source 
of  great  surprise  to  the  Garibaldian  officers  to  see  the 
father  and  daughter  constantly  walking  about  arm  in  arm 
with  the  most  perfect  sang-froid  in  the  very  teeth  of  the 
firiner,  shells  bursting:  all  around  them.  The  Garibaldians 
remonstrated  in  vain:  the  K.'s  remained  unhurt  in  the 
heat  of  every  battlefield,  and  appealed  to  bear  charmed 
lives. 


1864]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  157 

"  Some  time  after,  it  transpired  that  the  K.'s  had  no 
money  to  pay  their  bills  at  the  Victoria.  They  were 
much  respected  there,  having  been  there  often  before,  but 
they  could  not  be  allowed  to  remain  without  payment,  so 
the  landlord  told  them  they  must  leave.  They  went  to 
another  hotel,  where  the  same  thing  happened.  Then 
they  went  to  a  lodging. 

"  One  day  Francis  met  them  coming  down  under  the 
arch  in  the  Chiaja.  He  turned  round  and  went  with  them 
to  the  Villa  Reale.  As  they  went,  Miss  K.  spoke  of  the 
great  distress  which  was  then  prevalent  in  Naples,  and 
said  that  a  gentleman  had  just  begged  of  them  in  the 
street,  and  that  they  had  nothing  to  give  him.  'Before 
I  would  be  reduced  to  that,'  she  said,  'I  would  drown 
myself.'  — '  Yes,  and  1  too  would  drown  myself,'  said  Mr. 
K. ;  but  what  they  said  did  not  strike  Francis  till  after- 
wards. When  they  reached  the  Villa  Reale,  they  walked 
up  and  down  together  under  the  avenue.  Miss  K.  was 
more  than  usually  lively  and  agreeable,  and  they  did  not 
separate  till  nightfall,  when  the  gates  of  the  Villa  were 
going  to  be  shut. 

"  At  two  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Francis  was  awak- 
ened by  the  most  dreadful  and  vivid  dream.  He  dreamt 
that  he  stood  on  the  little  promontory  in  the  Villa  Reale, 
and  that  he  saw  two  corpses  bobbing  up  and  down  a  short 
distance  off.  The  dream  so  took  possession  of  him,  that 
he  jumped  up,  dressed  himself,  and  rushed  down  to  the 
Villa,  but  the  gates  were  shut  when  he  got  there,  and  he 
had  to  wait  till  they  were  opened  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  He  then  ran  down  the  avenue  to  the  promon- 
tory, and  thence,  exactly  as  he  had  seen  in  his  dream,  he 
saw  two  corpses  bobbing  up  and  down  on  the  waves  a  short 
distance  off.  He  called  to  some  fishermen,  who  waded  in 
and  brought  them  to  land,  and  he  then  at  once  recognised 
Mr.  and  Miss  K.  They  must  have  concealed  themselves 
in  the  Villa  till  the  gates  were  closed,  and  must  then  have 


]58  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1864 

deliberately  climbed  over  the  railing  of  the  promontory, 
and  then  tied  each  other's  ankles  and  wrists,  and,  alter 
filling  their  pockets  with  heavy  stones,  leapt  off  into  the 

Bea. 

"Capua  they  had  vainly  hoped  would  destroy  them. 

'"Some  time  after  Francis  found  that  Mr.  K.  had  once 
been  exceedingly  rich,  but  had  been  ruined:  that  his  wife, 
who  had  ;i  large  settlement,  had  then  left  him,  making  him 
a  handsome  allowance.  A  few  days  before  the  catastrophe 
this  allowance  had  been  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  Mr.  K. 
with  the  daughter  who  devoted  herself  to  him,  preferred 
death  to  beggary." 


It  may  seem  odd  that  I  have  never  mentioned  my 
second  brother,  William,  in  these  memoirs,  but  the 
fact  is,  that  after  he  grew  up,  I  never  saw  him  for 
more  than  a  few  minutes.  It  is  one  of  the  things 
I  regret  most  in  life  that  I  never  made  acquaintance 
with  William.  T  believe  now  that  he  was  misrepre- 
sented to  us  and  that  he  had  many  good  qualities ; 
and  I  often  feel,  had  he  lived  till  I  bad  the  means 
of  doing  so,  how  glad  I  should  have  been  to  have 
helped  him,  and  how  fond  I  might  have  become  of 
him.  At  Eton  be  was  an  excessively  good-looking 
boy,  very  clever,  very  mischievous,  and  intensely 
popular  with  bis  companions.  He  never  had  any 
fortune,  so  that  it  was  most  foolish  of  his  guardian 
(Uncle  Julius)  to  spend  £2000  which  had  been 
bequeathed  to  him  by  "  the  Bath  aunts,"  in  buying 
him  a  commission  in  the  Blues.  1  only  once  saw 
him  whilst  he  was  in  the  army,  and  only  remember 
him  as  a  great  dandy,  but  I  must  say  that  he  had 
the    excuse   that   everything  he   wore    became    him. 


1804]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  159 

After  lie  left  the  army  he  was  buffeted  about  from 
pillar  to  post,  and  lived  no  one  knows  where  or  how. 
Our  cousin  Lord  Ravensworth  was  very  kind  to  him, 
and  so  was  old  Lady  Paul ;  but  to  Hurstmonceaux  or 
Holmhurst  he  was  never  invited,  and  he  would  never 
have  been  allowed  to  come.  I  have  often  thought 
since  how  very  odd  it  was  that  when  he  died,  neither 
my  mother  nor  I  wore  the  slightest  mourning  for 
him  ;  but  he  was  so  entirely  outside  our  life  and 
thoughts,  that  somehow  it  would  never  have  oc- 
curred to  us.  He  had,  however,  none  of  the  cold 
.  self-contained  manner  which  characterised  Francis, 
but  was  warm-hearted,  cordial,  affectionate,  and 
could  be  most  entertaining.  After  his  mother's  great 
misfortunes  he  went  to  Spain  on  some  temporary 
appointment,  and  at  Barcelona  nearly  died  of  a  fever, 
through  which  he  was  nursed  by  a  lady,  who  had 
taken  an  extraordinary  fancy  to  him  ;  but  on  his 
return,  when  it  was  feared  he  would  marry  her,  he 
took  every  one  by  surprise  in  espousing  the  very 
pretty  portionless  daughter  of  a  physician  at  Clifton. 

During  the  year  1864  I  constantly  saw  my  Lefevre 
cousins  and  found  an  increasing  friendship  for  them. 
Sir  John  always  showed  me  the  greatest  kindness, 
being  full  of  interest  in  all  my  concerns.  I  consulted 
him  on  many  subjects,  feeling  that  he  was  the  only 
person  I  had  ever  known,  except  my  mother,  will- 
ing to  take  the  trouble  of  thinking  how  to  give  the 
best  advice  and  perfectly  disinterested  in  giving  it ; 
consequently  I  always  took  his  advice  and  his 
only.  His  knowledge  was  extraordinary,  and  was 
only  equalled  by  his  humility  and  self-forgetfulness. 


160  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

Many  were  the  interesting  reminiscences  of  other 
days  which  he  delighted  to  call  up  —  many  the 
remarkable  parallels  he  drew  between  present  events 
and  tin isc  he  remembered  —  many  the  charming 
stories  lie  told  me.  One  of  these,  which  has  always 
struck  me  as  very  grand  and  dramatic,  I  have  so 
often  repeated  that  I  will  make  a  note  of  it  here :  — 

"  Within  the  memory  of  those  still  living  there  resided 
in  Madrid  a  family  called  Benalta.  It  consisted  of  Colonel 
Benalta,  a  man  of  choleric  and  sharp  disposition;  of  his 
wife,  Madame  Benalta;  oi  his  young  daughter;  of  his 
little  son  Carlos,  a  boy  ten  years  old;  and  of  the  mother  of  * 
Madame  Benalta,  who  was  a  woman  of  large  property  and 
of  considerable  importance  in  the  society  at  Madrid.  On 
the  whole,  they  were  quoted  as  an  example  of  a  happy  and 
harmonious  family.  It  is  true  that  there  were,  however, 
certain  drawbacks  to  their  being  completely  happy,  entirely 
harmonious,  and  the  chief  of  these  was  that  Colonel 
Benalta,  when  his  temper  was  not  at  its  best,  would  fre- 
quently, much  more  often  than  was  agreeable,  say  to  his 
wife,  '  My  dear,  yon  know  nothing:  my  dear,  you  know- 
nothing  at  all:  you  know  nothing  whatever.'  This  was 
very  disagreeable  to  Madame  Benalta,  hut  it  was  far  more 
unpleasant  to  the  mother  of  Madame  Benalta,  who  con- 
sidered her  daughter  to  he  a  very  distinguished  and  gifted 
woman,  and  who  did  not  at  all  like  to  have  it  said, 
especially  in   public,  that  she  knew  —  nothing! 

"However,  as  I  have  said,  on  the  whole,  as  Madrid 
society  went,  the  Benaltas  were  quoted  as  an  example  of 
a  happy  and  harmonious  family. 

"One  day  ( 'olonel  Benalta  wras  absent  on  military  duty, 
but  the  rest  of  the  family  were  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room  at  Madrid.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  at  a  round 
table,  sat  Madame  Benalta  and  her  daughter  working.      At 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  161 

a  bureau  on  one  side  of  the  room  sat  the  mother  of  Madame 
Benalta,  counting  out  the  money  which  she  had  just  re- 
ceived for  the  rents  of  her  estates  in  Andalusia,  arranging 
the  louis-d'ors  in  piles  of  tens  before  her,  and  eventually 
putting  them  away  in  a  strong  box  at  her  side.  At  another 
table  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  sat  little  Carlos  Benalta 
writing  a  copy. 

"  Now  I  do  not  know  the  exact  words  of  the  Spanish 
proverb  which  formed  the  copy  that  Carlos  Benalta  wrote, 
but  it  was  something  to  the  effect  of  '  Work  while  it  is 
to-day,  for  thou  knowest  not  what  may  happen  to-morrow. ' 
And  the  child  wrote  it  again  and  again  till  the  page  was 
full,  and  then  he  signed  it,  '  Carlos  Benalta,  Sept.  22nd, ' 
and  he  took  the  copy  to  his  mother. 

"  Now  the  boy  had  signed  his  copy  '  Carlos  Benalta, 
Sept.  22nd,'  but  it  really  was  Sept.  21.  And  Madame 
Benalta  was  a  very  superstitious  woman;  and  when  she 
saw  that  in  his  copy  Carlos  had  anticipated  the  morrow 
—  the  to-morrow  on  which  '  thou  knowest  not  what  may 
happen  '  —  it  struck  her  as  an  evil  omen,  and  she  was  very 
much  annoyed  with  Carlos,  and  spoke  sharply,  saying  that 
he  had  been  very  careless,  and  that  he  must  take  the  copy 
back  and  write  it  all  over  again.  And  Carlos,  greatly 
crestfallen,  took  the  copy  and  went  back  to  his  seat.  But 
the  mother  of  Madame  Benalta,  who  always  indulged  and 
petted  Carlos,  looked  up  from  her  counting  and  said, 
'  Bring  the  copy  to  me. '  And  when  she  saw  it  she  said 
to  her  daughter,  '  I  think  you  are  rather  hard  upon  Carlos, 
my  dear ;  he  has  evidently  taken  pains  with  his  copy  and 
written  it  very  well ;  and  as  for  the  little  mistake  at  the 
end,  it  really  does  not  signify;  so  I  hope  you  will  forgive 
him,  and  not  expect  him  to  write  it  again.'  Upon  which 
Madame  Benalta,  but  with  a  very  bad  grace,  said,  '  Oh,  of 
course,  if  his  grandmother  says  he  is  not  to  write  it  again, 
I  do  not  expect  him  to  do  it;  but  I  consider,  all  the  same, 
that  he  ought  to  have  been  obliged  to  do  it  for  his  care- 

VOL.    II.  — 11 


L62  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1864 

lessness.'  Then  the  grandmother  took  ten  louis-d'ors 
from  the  piles  before  her,  and  she  tore  the  copy  out  of 
the  book  and  rolled  them  up  in  it,  and  scaled  the  pared, 
and  she  wrote  upon  the  outside,  '  For  my  dear  grandson, 
(ailos  Benalta;  to  be  given  to  him  when  I  am  dead!" 
And  she  showed  it  to  her  daughter  and  her  grand-daughter, 
and  said,  '  Some  day  when  I  am  passed  away,  this  will  be 
a  little  memorial  to  Carlos  of  his  old  grandmother,  who 
loved  him  and  liked  to  save  him  from  a  punishment.'  And 
she  put  the  packet  away  in  the  strong  box  with  the  rest  «>l 
the  money. 

"The  next  morning  the  news  of  a  most  dreadful  tragedy 
startled  the  people  of  Madrid.  The  mother  of  Madame 
Benalta,  who  inhabited  an  apartment  in  the  same  house 
above  that  of  her  daughter  and  son-in-law,  was  found  mur- 
dered in  her  room  under  the  most  dreadful  circumstances. 
She  had  evidently  fought  hard  for  her  life.  The  whole 
floor  was  in  pools  of  blood.  She  had  been  dragged  from 
one  piece  of  furniture  to  another,  and  eventually  she  had 
been  butchered  lying  across  the  bed.  There  were  the 
marks  of  a  bloody  hand  all  down  the  staircase,  and  the 
strong  box  was  missing.  Everything  was  done  that  could 
be  done  to  discover  the  murderer,  but  unfortunately  he 
had  chosen  the  one  day  in  the  year  when  such  a  crime  was 
difficult  to  trace.  As  Mademoiselle  Benalta  was  not  yet 
'  out, '  and  as  the  family  liked  a  quiet  domestic  life,  they 
never  went  out  in  the  evening,  and  the  street  door  was 
known  to  be  regularly  fastened.  Therefore,  on  this  one 
day  in  the  year,  when  the  servants  went  on  their  annual 
picnic  to  the  Escurial,  it  was  supposed  to  be  quite  safe  to 
leave  the  street  door  on  the  latch,  that  they  might  let 
themselves  in  when  they  returned  very  late.  The  mur- 
derer must  have  known  this  and  taken  advantage  of  it; 
therefore,  though  Colonel  Benalta  offered  a  very  large 
reward,  and  though  the  Spanish  Government —  so  great 
was   the   public  horror  —  offered,  for  them,  a  very  large 


1864]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  163 

reward,    no    clue    whatever    was    ever    obtained    to    the 
murderer. 

UA  terrible  shadow  naturally  hung  over  the  house  in 
Madrid,  and  the  Benalta  family  could  not  bear  to  remain 
in  a  scene  which  to  them  was  filled  with  such  associa- 
tions of  horror.  By  the  death  of  the  poor  lady,  Madame 
Benalta's  mother,  they  had  inherited  her  estates  in  Anda- 
lusia, and  they  removed  to  Cordova.  There  they  lived 
very  quietly.  From  so  great  a  shock  Madame  Benalta 
could  not  entirely  rally,  and  she  shrank  more  than  ever 
from  strangers.  Besides,  her  home  life  was  less  pleasant 
than  it  had  been,  for  Colonel  Benalta's  temper  was  sharper 
and  sourer  than  ever,  and  even  more  frequently  than  before 
he  said  to  her,  '  My  dear,  you  know  nothing:  you  really 
know  nothing  at  all. ' 

"  Eleven  years  passed  away,  melancholy  years  enough  to 
the  mother,  but  her  children  grew  up  strong  and  happy, 
and  naturally  on  them  the  terrible  event  of  their  childhood 
seemed  now  quite  in  the  far-away  past.  One  day  Colonel 
Benalta  was  again  absent  on  military  duty.  Madame 
Benalta  was  sitting  in  her  usual  chair  in  her  drawing- 
room  at  Cordova,  and  Carlos,  then  a  young  man  of  one- 
and-twenty,  was  standing  by  her,  when  the  door  opened 
and  Mademoiselle  Benalta  came  in.  '  Oh,  mother, '  she 
said,  '  I  've  been  taking  advantage  of  our  father's  absence 
to  arrange  his  room,  and  in  one  of  his  drawers  I  have 
found  a  little  relic  of  our  childhood  which  I  think  per- 
haps may  be  interesting  to  you:  it  seems  to  be  a  copy 
which  Carlos  must  have  written  when  he  was  a  little  boy. ' 
Madame  Benalta  took  the  paper  out  of  her  daughter's  hand 
and  saw,  '  Work  while  it  is  to-day,  for  thou  knowest  not 
what  may  happen  to-morrow,'  and  at  the  bottom  the 
signature  k  Carlos  Benalta,  September  22nd,'  and  she 
turned  it  round,  and  there,  at  the  back,  in  the  well-known 
trembling  hand,  was  written,  '  For  my  dear  grandson 
Carlos  Benalta,   to   be   given  to  him  when  I  am  dead.' 


104  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [18C1 

Madame  Benalta  had  just  presence  of  mind  to  crumple 
up  the  paper  and  throw  it  into  the  hack  of  the  tire,  and 
then  she  It'll  down  upon  the  floor  in  a  lit. 

"  From  that  time  Madame  Benalta  never  had  any  health. 
She  was  unable  to  take  anypart  in  the  affairs  of  the  house, 
and  scarcely  seemed  aide  to  show  any  interest  in  anything. 
Her  husband  had  less  patience  than  ever  with  her,  and 
more  frequently  abused  her  and  said.  '  My  dear,  you  know 
nothing;'  but  it  hardly  seemed  to  affect  her  now;  her 
life  seemed  ebbing  away  together  with  its  animation  and 
power,  and  she  failed  daily.  That  day-year  Madame 
Benalta  lay  on  her  death-bed,  and  all  her  family  were 
collected  in  her  room  to  witness  her  last  moments.  She 
had  received  the  last  sacraments,  and  the  supreme  moment 
of  life  had  arrived,  when  she  beckoned  her  husband  to  her. 
As  he  leant  over  her,  in  a  calm  solemn  voice,  distinctly 
audible  to  all  present,  she  said,  k  My  dear,  you  have  always 
said  that  I  knew  nothing:  now  I  have  known  two  things: 
I  have  known  how  to  be  silent  in  life,  and  how  to  pardon 
in  death,"  and  so  saying,  she  died. 

"vIt  is  unnecessary  to  explain  what  Madame  Benalta 
knew." 

In  later  years,  in  Spain.  I  have  read  a  little  book 
by  Fernan  Caballero,  "  El  Silencio  en  la  Vita,  y  el 
Perdono  en  la  Muerte,"  but  even  in  the  hands  of  the 
great  writer  the  story  wants  the  simple  power  which 
it  had  when  told  by  Sir  Juhn. 

The  winter  of  1864-G-5  was  a  terribly  anxious  one 
at  Holmhurst.  My  mother  failed  daily  as  the  cold 
weather  came  on,  and  was  in  a  state  of  constant  and 
helpless  suffering.  I  never  could  bear  to  be  away 
from  her  for  a  moment,  and  passed  the  whole  clay  by 


1864]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  165 

the  side  of  her  heel  or  chair,  feeding  her,  supporting 
her,  chafing  her  inanimate  limbs,  trying  by  an  energy 
of  love  to  animate  her  through  the  weary  hours  of 
sickness,  giddiness,  and  pain.  We  were  seldom  able 
to  leave  one  room,  the  central  one  in  the  house, 
and  had  to  keep  it  as  warm  as  was  possible.  My 
recollection  lingers  on  the  months  of  entire  absence 
from  all  external  life  spent  in  that  close  room,  sitting 
in  an  armchair,  pretending  to  read  while  I  was  cease- 
lessly watching.  My  mother  was  so  much  worse 
than  she  had  ever  been  before,  that  I  was  never  very 
hopeful,  but  strove  never  to  look  beyond  the  present 
into  the  desolate  future,  and,  while  devoting  my 
whole  thoughts  and  energies  to  activity  for  her,  was 
always  able  to  be  cheerful.  Still  I  remember  how, 
in  that  damp  and  misty  Christinas,  I  happened  to 
light  upon  the  lines  in  "  In  Memoriam "  — 

"With  trembling  fingers  did  we  weave 
The  holly  round  our  Christinas  hearth ; 
A  rainy  cloud  possess'd  the  earth, 
And  sadly  fell  our  Christmas  Eve." 

And  how  wonderfully  applicable  they  seemed  to 
our  case. 

To  my  Sister. 

"  Holm-hurst,  Dec.  17,  1864.  How  we  envy  you  the 
warmth  of  Italy!  Had  we  known  how  severe  a  winter 
this  was  likely  to  be,  we  also  should  have  started  for  Italy 
at  all  risks,  and  I  feel  that  I  have  been  very  wrong  ever  to 
have  consented  to  the  mother's  staying  in  England,  though 
she  seemed  so  weary  of  travelling  and  so  much  better  in 
health,  that  I  could  not  believe  the  effect  would  be  so  bad. 
The  cold  is  most  intense.     After  a  month  of  wet,  we  have 


166  THE   STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1864 

had  two  days  of  snow  with  black  east  wind,  and  now  it  is 
pouring  again,  but  the  rain  freezes  as  it  falls. 

"The  dear  mother  is  perfectly  prostrated  by  the  cold, 

and  looks  at  least  twenty  years  older  than  in  the  summer. 
She  has  great  and  constant  pain,  and  trembles  so  greatly 
as  to  be  quite  unable  to  feed  herself,  and  she  can  do  noth- 
ing whatever  all  day,  so  that  she  is  very  miserable.  Of 
course  I  am  dreadfully  and  constantly  anxious  about  her, 
and  the  dread  of  paralysis  haunts  me  night  and  day.  I 
need  not  say  how  sweet,  and  gentle,  and  uncomplaining 
my  poor  darling-  is,  but  one  can  see  she  suffers  greatly, 
and  '  the  pleasures  of  an  English  winter,*  which  some  of 
the  family  have  always  been  urging  her  to  enjoy,  consist 
in  an  almost  total  non-existence  on  her  part,  and  constant 
watching  on  mine." 


Gradually  the  consciousness  came  to  all  around  her 
that  the  only  chance  of  my  mother's  recovery  would 
be  from  taking;  her  abroad.  How  I  longed  to  follow 
the  advice  given  in  "Kotzebue's  Travels"  when  he 
urges  us  to  take  pattern  by  our  ancestors,  who  were 
content  to  sit  still  and  read  the  injunction  in  their 
Bibles,  "  Let  not  your  flight  be  in  the  winter."  Yet 
this  year  even  poor  Lea,  generally  so  averse  to  leav- 
ing home,  urged  us  to  set  off.  Then  came  the  diffi- 
culty of  how  to  go,  and  where.  We  <\rr'n\rd  to  turn 
towards  Pau  and  Biarritz,  because  easier  of  access 
than  Cannes,  and  because  the  journeys  were  shorter: 
and  then  there  was  the  constant  driving  down  to  look 
at  the  sea.  and  the  discovery  that,  when  it  was  calm 
enough,  my  mother  was  too  ill  to  move,  and  when 
she  was  better,  the  sea  was  too  rough.  At  last,  on 
the  20th  of  January,  we  left  home  in  the  evening. 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  16 


— 


To  my  Sister. 

"  Bordeaux,  Jan.  28,  1865.  I  cannot  say  what  a  com- 
fort it  is,  amid  much  else  that  is  sad  and  trying,  to  think 
of  you  safe  at  Palazzo  Parisani,  in  the  home  of  many 
years,  with  the  devoted  auntie  and  the  two  old  domestic 
friends  to  share  your  interests  and  sorrows  and  joys  —  so 
much  left  of  the  good  of  life,  so  much  to  gild  the  memory 
of  the  past.  I  know  how  you  would  feel  the  return  to 
Rome  at  first  —  the  desolate  room,  the  empty  chair,  the 
unused  writing-table;  and  then  how  you  would  turn  to 
'  gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain, '  and  to  see  that 
even  the  darkest  cloud  has  its  silver  lining.  .  .  .  No,  you 
cannot  wish  your  mother  back.  In  thinking  of  her,  you 
will  remember  that  if  she  were  with  you  now,  it  would 
not  be  in  the  enjoyment  of  Rome,  of  Victoire,  and  Parisani, 
but  in  cheerless  London  rooms,  with  their  many  trials  of 
spirits  and  temper.     Now  all  those  are  forgotten  by  her, 

for 

'  Who  will  count  the  billows  past 
If  the  shore  be  won  at  last  ? ' 

"  And  for  yourself,  you  are  conscious  that  you  are  in  the 
place  where  she  would  have  you  be,  and  that  if  she  can 
still  be  with  you  invisibly,  her  life  and  your  life  may  still 
be  running  on  side  by  side,  and  yours  now  giving  to  her 
unclouded  eyes  the  pleasure  it  never  could  have  given 
when  earthly  mists  obscured  them. 

"I  often  think  of  Christian  Andersen's  story  of  the 
mother  who  was  breaking  her  heart  with  grief  for  the  loss 
of  her  only  child,  when  Death  bade  her  look  into  his 
mirror,  and  on  one  side  she  saw  the  life  of  her  child  as  it 
would  have  been  had  it  remained  on  earth,  in  all  the 
misery  of  sorrow  and  sickness  and  sin;  and  on  the  other, 
the  glorified  life  to  which  it  was  taken;  and  then  the 
mother  humbly  gave  thanks  to  the  All-Wise,  who  chose 
for  her,  and  could  only  beg  forgiveness  because  she  had 
wished  to  choose  for  herself. 


168  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [18G5 

"Do  you  know,  my  Esmeralda,  that  great  sorrow  has 
been  very  near  me  too?  My  sweetest  mother  has  been 
wry,  very  ill,  and  even  now  she  is  so  little  really  better, 
that  I  am  full  of  anxiety  about  her.  From  the  New  Year 
she  was  so  ill  at  llolmhurst  from  the  cold  and  snow,  that  it 
was  decided  that  we  must  take  the  first  available  moment 
for  going  abroad.  But  we  were  packed  up  and  waiting 
for  more  than  a  fortnight  before  her  health  and  the  tempests 
allowed  us  to  start. 

"Her  passage  on  the  21st  was  most  unfortunate,  for  a 
thick  fog  came  on,  which  long  prevented  the  steamer  from 
finding  the  narrow  entrance  of  Calais  harbour,  and  the  boat 
remained  for  two  hours  swaying  about  outside  and  firing 
guns  of  distress  every  ten  minutes.  These  were  answered 
by  steamers  in  port,  and  the  great  alarm-bell  of  Calais 
tolled  incessantly.  At  last  another  steamer  was  sent  out 
burning  red  lights,  and  guided  the  wanderer  in.  My  poor 
mother  was  quite  unable  to  stand  from  the  cold  and  fatigue 
when  she  was  landed,  and  the  journey  to  Paris,  across  the 
plains  deep  in  snow,  was  a  most  anxious  one.  During 
the  three  days  we  spent  at  Paris,  she  was  so  ill  that  I  had 
almost  given  up  all  hope  of  moving  her,  when  a  warm 
change  in  the  weather  allowed  of  our  reaching  Tours, 
where  we  stayed  two  more  days. 

"Tours  is  a  fine  old  town,  and  is  the  place  where  our 
grandfather  died.  I  saw  Ins  house,  quite  a  palace,  now 
the  museum.  We  slept  again  at  Angouleme,  a  very  strik- 
ing place,  the  old  town  rising  out  of  the  new,  a  rocky 
citadel  surrounded  with  the  most  beautiful  public  walks 
I  ever  saw  out  of  Rome,  and  a  curious  cathedral.  This 
Bordeaux  is  a  second  Paris,  only  with  a  river  like  an  arm 
of  the  sea,  and  immense  quays,  full  of  bustle  and  hubbub, 
like  the  Carminella  at  Naples." 

"Hotel  Victoria,  Pan,  Feb.  2.      On  Monday  Ave  made  the 
easiest  move  possible  from  Bordeaux  to  Arcachon,  a  most 


1865] 


HOME   LIFE   WITH    THE   MOTHER 


169 


quaint  little  watering-place.  The  hotel  was  a  one-storied 
wooden  house,  with  an  immensely  broad  West-Indian-like 
balcony,  in  which  three  or  four  people  could  walk  abreast, 
descending  on  one  side  to  the  strip  of  silver  sand  which 
alone  separated  it  from  the  waveless  bay  of  the  sea  called 
the  Bassin  d'Arcachon;1  the  other  opening  into  the  forest 
—  sixty  or  seventy  miles  of  low  sandhills  covered  with 
arbutus,  holly,  and  pine.  Near  the  village,  quantities  of 
lodging-houses,  built  like  Swiss  chalets,  are  rising  up 
everywhere  in  the  wood,  without  walls,  hedges,  or  gardens, 


TOURS.'2 


just  like  a  fairy  story,  and  in  the  forest  itself  it  is  always 
warm,  no  winds  or  frosts  penetrating  the  vast  living  walls 
of  green.  If  the  mother  had  been  better,  I  should  have 
liked  to  linger  at  Arcachon  a  few  days,  but  we  could  not 
venture  to  remain  so  far  from  a  doctor.  Here  at  Pau  Ave 
live  in  a  deluge :  it  pours  like  a  ceaseless  waterspout ;  yet, 
so  dry  is  the  soil,  that  the  rain  never  seems  to  make  any 
impression.     Pau  is  dreadfully  full  and  enormously  expen- 

1  These  were  the  very  early  days  of  Arcachon. 

2  From  "  South- Western  France." 


170 


THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1805 


sive.  I  see  no  beauty  in  the  place,  the  town  is  modern 
with  a  modernised  castle,  the  surrounding  country  flat, 
with  long  white  roads  between  stagnant  ditches,  the 
'  coteauxi  Low  hills  in  the  middle  distance  covered  with 
brushwood,  the  distant  view  scarcely  ever  visible.  We 
are  surrounded  by  cousins.  Mis.  Taylor1  is  most  kind  — 
really  as  good-natured  as  she  is  ugly,  and,  haying  lived 
here  twenty  years,  she  knows  everything  about  the  place. 
Dr.  Taylor  is  a  very  skilful  physician.     Edwin  and  Bertha 


AT    ANGOULEME.2 


Dashwood   are    also    here    with    their    five    children,    and 
Amelia  Story  with  her  father  and  step-mother.3 

"Alas!  my  sweetest  mother  is  terribly  weak,  and  has 
hitherto  only  seemed  to  lose  strength  from   day  to  day. 

1  Born  Julia  Hare  of  Hurstmonceaux,  a  first  cousin  of  my  father. 

2  From  "South-Western  France." 

8  Edwin  Dashwood  was  the  son,  and  the  first  Mrs.  Story  had 
been  the  daughter,  of  Emily  Hare  of  Ilurstmonceaux,  sister  of 
Mrs.  Taylor. 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER.  171 

She  cannot  now  even  walk  across  the  room,  nor  can  she 
move  from  one  chair  to  another  without  great  help.  We 
are  a  little  cheered,  however,  to-day  by  Dr.  Taylor." 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"Pan,  Feb.  12.  For  the  last  two  days  my  dearest 
mother's  suffering  has  been  most  sad,  without  intermis- 
sion. .  .  .  This  evening  Dr.  Taylor  has  told  me  how  very 
grave  he  thinks  her  state,  and  that,  except  for  the  knowl- 
edge of  her  having  so  often  rallied  before,  there  is  no  hope 
of  her  precious  life  being  restored  to  us.  God  has  given 
her  back  before  from  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  it  might 
be  His  will  to  do  so  again ;  this  is  all  we  have  to  cling  to. 
Her  weakness  increases  daily.  She  cannot  now  help  her- 
self at  all.  .  .  .  Her  sweetness,  her  patience,  the  lovely 
expression  of  her  countenance,  her  angelic  smile,  her 
thankfulness  for  God's  blessings  even  when  her  suffering 
is  greatest,  who  can  describe  ?  These  are  the  comfort  and 
support  which  are  given  us. 

"I  do  not  gather  that  the  danger  is  quite  immediate; 
the  dread  is  a  stupor,  which  may  creep  on  gradually.  .  .  . 
I  am  always  able  to  be  cheerful  in  watching  over  her, 
though  I  feel  as  if  the  sunshine  was  hourly  fading  out  of 
my  life." 

To  my  Sister. 

"Pan,  Feb.  14.  My  last  account  will  have  prepared 
you  for  the  news  I  have  to  give.  My  sweetest  mother  is 
fast  fading  away.  .  .  .  Lea  and  I  have  been  up  with  her 
all  the  last  two  nights,  and  every  minute  of  the  day  has 
been  filled  with  an  intensity  of  anxious  watching.  The 
frail  earthly  tabernacle  is  perishing,  but  a  mere  look  at  my 
dearest  one  assures  us  that  her  spirit,  glorious  and  sanc- 
tified, has  almost  already  entered  upon  its  perfected  life. 
Her  lovely  smile,  the  heavenly  light  in  her  eyes,  are  quite 
undescribable. 


17-  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

"All  through  last  night,  as  I  sat  in  the  red  firelight, 
watching  every  movement,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  end 
was  close  at  hand.  Her  hymn  rang  in  my  ears  —  so 
awfully  solemn  and  real:  — 

'  It  may  l"j  when  the  midnight 

Is  heavy  upon  the  land, 
And  the  Mack  waves  lying  dumbly 

Along  the  sand ; 
AYhen  the  moonless  night  draws  close, 
And  the  lights  are  out  in  the  house ; 
When  the  fires  burn  low  and  red, 
And  the  watch  is  ticking  loudly 

Beside  the  bed  : 
Though  you  sleep,  tired  out,  on  your  couch, 
Still  your  heart  must  wake  and  watch 

In  the  dark  room. 
For  it  may  be  that  at  midnight 

I  will  come.' 

When  the  Master  does  come,  she  will  be  always  found 
waiting.  Has  not  my  darling  kept  her  lamp  burning  all 
her  life  long?  Surely  when  the  Bridegroom  cometh,  she 
will  enter  into  the  kingdom. 

"I  cannot  tell  how  soon  it  will  be.  I  have  no  hope  now 
of  her  being  given  back  to  me.  It  is  a  solemn  waiting. 
Oh!  my  Esmeralda,  when  you  hear  that  the  hour  has 
come,  pity,  pray  for  her  unutterably  desolate  son.'' 

To  Miss  Lkyckster. 

"Feb.  17.  There  has  been  an  unexpected  rally.  Two 
days  ago.  when  I  was  quite  hopeless  and  she  lay  motion- 
less, unconscious  of  earth.  Dr.  Taylor  said,  *  Wait,  you 
can  do  nothing:  if  this  trance  is  to  end  fatally,  you  can 
do  nothing  to  arrest  it;  but  it  may  still  prove  to  be  an 
extraordinary  effort  of  Nature  to  recruit  itself.'  And  truly, 
at  eight  o'clock  yesterday  morning,  after  sixty  hours  of 
trance,  she  suddenly  opened  her  eyes,    smiled   and   spoke 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  173 

naturally.  I  had  just  left  the  room,  when  Lea  called  me 
back  — '  She  is  talking  to  me.'  I  could  scarcely  believe 
it;  yet,  when  I  went  in,  there  my  darling  sat  in  her  bed, 
with  a  sweet  look  of  restored  consciousness  and  returning 
power. 

"  It  was  like  a  miracle. 

"  She  remembers  nothing  now  of  her  illness.  She  does 
not  think  she  has  suffered.  During  the  last  night  she 
sa_ys  she  was  constantly  saying  the  seventy-first  Psalm. 
Almost  the  first  thing  she  said  after  rallying  was,  '  I  have 
not  been  alone :  your  Uncle  Penrhyn  and  your  Aunt  Kitty 1 
have  been  here,  supporting  me  all  through  the  night. ' 

"  Our  nice  simple  little  landlady  had  just  been  to  the 
church  to  pray  for  her,  and  coming  back  to  find  her 
restored  believes  it  is  in  answer  to  her  prayers. 

"I  did  not  know  what  the  agony  of  the  last  three  days 
was  till  they  were  over.  While  they  lasted,  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  to  be  bright  for  her,  that  she  might  only  see 
smiles,  to  prevent  Lea  from  giving  way,  and  to  glean  up 
every  glance  and  word  and  movement;  but  to-day  I  feel 
much  exhausted." 

To  my  Sister. 

"  Pau,  Feb.  21.  My  darling  has  been  mercifully  restored 
to  me  for  a  little  while  —  a  few  days'  breathing  space;  and 
yet  I  could  not  count  upon  this  even  while  it  lasted;  I  could 
not  dwell  upon  hope,  I  could  not  look  forward  —  the  frail 
frame  is  so  very  frail.  I  cannot  think  she  is  given  to  me 
for  long:  I  only  attempt  to  store  up  the  blessings  of  each 
day  now  against  the  long  desolate  future. 

"  Last  Sunday  week  she  fell  into  her  trance.  It  lasted 
between  sixty  and  seventy  hours.  During  this  time  she 
was  almost  unconscious.  She  knew  me,  she  even  said 
1  Dear  '  to  me  once  or  twice,  and  smiled  most  sweetly  as 

1  Her  brother  and  sister,  who  had  died  long  before. 


171 


TIIK    STOKY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[18G5 


she  did  so,  but  otherwise  she  was  totally  unconscious  of 
all  around  her,  of  day  and  night,  of  the  Borrow  or  anxiety 
of  the  watchers,  of  pain  or  trouble.  A  serene  peace  over- 
shadowed her,  a  heavenly  sweetness  filled  her  expression, 
and  never  varied  except  to  dimple  into  smiles  of  angelic 
beauty,  as  if  she  were  already  in  the  company  of  angels. 

"  But  for  the  last  sixteen  hours  the  trance  was  like  death. 
Then  the  doctor  said,  '  If  the  pulse  does  not  sink  and  if 
she  wakes  naturally,  she  may  rally/  This  happened.  At 
eight  the  next  morning,  my  darling  gently  awoke  and  was 
given  hack  into  life.      rI  nis  was  Thursday,  and  there  were 


.  .  . 


PA  I'.1 


three  da}-s'  respite.  But  yesterday  she  was  evidently  fail- 
ing again,  and  this  morning,  while  Dr.  Taylor  was  in  the 
room,  the  trance  came  on  again.  For  ten  minutes  her 
pulse  ceased  to  beat  altogether.  .  .  .  Since  then  she  has 
lain  as  before  —  scarcely  here,  yet  not  gone  —  quite  happy 
—  between  heaven  and  earth. 

"  I  believe  now  that  if  my  darling  is  taken  I  can  give 
thanks  for  the  exceeding  blessedness  of  this  end. 

"Meantime  it  is  again  a  silent  watching,  and,  as  I  watch, 
the  solemn  music  of  the  hymns  that  my  darling  loves  comes 


1  From  '-' South- Western  France." 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  175 

back  to  me,   and  I  repeat  them  to  myself.     Now  these 
verses  are  in  my  mind :  — ■ 

'  Have  we  not  caught  the  smiling 

On  some  beloved  face, 
As  if  a  heavenly  sound  were  wiling 

The  soul  from  our  earthly  place?  — 
The  distant  sound  and  sweet 
Of  the  Master's  coming  feet. 

We  may  clasp  the  loved  one  faster, 

And  plead  for  a  little  while, 
But  who  can  resist  the  Master? 

And  we  read  by  that  brightening  smile 
That  the  tread  we  may  not  fear 
Is  drawing  surely  near.' 

And  then,  in  the  long  watches  of  the  night,  all  the  golden 
past  comes  back  to  me  —  how  as  a  little  child  I  played 
round  my  darling  in  Lime  Wood  ■ —  how  the  flowers  were 
our  friends  and  companions  —  how  we  lived  in  and  for  one 
another  in  the  bright  Lime  garden :  of  her  patient  endur- 
ance of  much  injustice  —  of  her  sweet  forgiveness  of  all 
injuries  —  of  her  loving  gratitude  for  all  blessings  —  of  her 
ever  sure  upward-seeking  of  the  will  and  glory  of  God: 
and  my  eye  wanders  to  the  beloved  face,  lined  and  worn 
but  glowing  with  the  glory  of  another  world,  and  while 
giving  thanks  for  thirty  years  of  past  blessing,  shall  I  not 
also  give  thanks  that  thus  — ■  not  through  the  dark  valley, 
but  through  the  sunshine  of  God  — ■  my  mother  is  entering 
upon  her  rest? 

"  God  will  give  me  strength :  I  feel  quite  calm.  I  can 
think  only  how  to  soothe,  how  to  cheer,  how  to  do  every- 
thing for  her." 


"Feb.  26.  It  is  still  the  same;  Ave  are  still  watching. 
In  the  hundred  and  twelfth  hour  of  her  second  trance, 
during  which  she  had  taken  no  nourishment  whatever,  my 


176  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

mother  spoke  again,  but  it  was  only  for  a  time.  You  will 
imagine  what  the  long  patchings  of  this  death-like  slum- 
ber have  been,  what  the  strange  visions  of  the  past  which 
have  risen  to  my  mind  in  the  long,  silent  nights,  as,  with 

locked  doors  (for  the  French  would  insist  that  all  was 
over),  I  have  hovered  over'the  pillow  on  which  she  lies  as 
if  bound  by  enchantment.  Now  conies  before  me  the 
death-bed  scene  of  S.  Vincent  de  Paul,  when,  to  the 
watchers  lamenting  together  over  his  perpetual  stupor,  his 
voice  suddenly  said,  k  It  is  but  the  brother  that  goes  before 
the  sister.'  Then,  as  the  shadows  lighten  into  dawn, 
Norman  Macleod's  story  of  how  he  was  watching  b/y  the 
death-bed  of  his  beloved  one  in  an  old  German  city,  and 
grief  was  sinking  into  despair,  when,  loud  and  solemn,  at 
three  in  the  morning,  echoed  forth  the  voice  of  the  old 
German  watchman  giving  the  hours  in  the  patriarchal 
way  — '  Put  your  trust  in  the  Divine  TJiree,  for  after  the 
darkest  night  cometh  the  break  of  day.' 

"  Last  night  the  trance  seemed  over.  All  was  changed. 
My  sweetest  one  was  haunted  by  strange  visions ;  to  her 
excited  mind  and  renewed  speech,  eveiy  fold  of  the  cur- 
tains was  a  spirit,  every  sound  an  alarm.  For  hours  I  sat 
with  her  trembling  hands  in  mine,  soothing  her  with  the 
old  hymns  that  she  loves.  To  a  certain  extent,  however, 
there  is  more  hope,  more  of  returning  power.  Is  it  a 
superstition  to  think  that  she  began  to  revive  when  in  the 
churches  at  Holnilmrst,  Hastings,  Hurstmonceaux,  Alton, 
and  Pan  prayers  (and  in  many  cases  how  earnest)  were 
being  offered  up  for  her  restoration? 

"Two  p.m.  My  darling  lias  been  sitting  up  in  bed 
listening  to  sweet  voices,  which  have  been  singing  to  her; 
but  they  were  no  earthly  voices  which  she  heard. 

1  Ten  P.  M.  She  has  just  declared  that  she  sees  Ruth 
Harmer  (a  good,  sweet  girl  she  used  to  visit,  who  died  at 
Hurstmonceaux)  standing  by   her   bedside.     '  It  is   Ruth 


1865]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  177 

Harmer  —  look  at  Ruth  Hamier, '  she  said.  But  it  was 
not  a  voice  of  terror ;  it  was  rather  like  the  apostolic  ques- 
tion, '  Who  are  these  who  are  arrayed,  in  white  robes,  and 
whence  come  they  ?  '  There  has  also  been  a  time  when 
she  has  spoken  of  '  dear  Holmhurst,  dear  beautiful  Holm- 
hurst, '  in  the  most  touching  way." 

"Feb.  27.  She  has  fallen  into  a  third  stupor,  deeper 
than  the  others ;  there  is  no  sign  of  breath,  the  heart  does 
not  beat,  the  pulse  does  not  beat,  the  features  have  sunk. 
I  alone  now  declare  with  certain  conviction  that  she  lives. 
The  shadows  are  closing  around  us,  yet  I  feel  that  we  are 
in  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Unseen,  and  that  the 
good  Ruth  Harmer  is  only  one  of  the  many  angels  watch- 
ing over  my  sweetest  one.  Years  ago  she  told  me  that 
when  dying  she  wished  her  favourite  hymn  — 

'  How  bright  those  glorious  spirits  shine  — 

to  be  sung  by  her  bedside ;  was  it  these  words  which  she 
heard  the  angels  sing  to  her?  Oh!  my  Esmeralda,  are 
you  praying  that  I  may  endure  while  it  is  necessary  to  do 
everything  for  her,  only  so  long  ?  How  strange  that  the 
scene  which  I  have  so  often  imagined  should  be  in  a  coun- 
try hitherto  unknown,  the  only  relations  near  having  been 
strangers  before;  yet  the  simple  French  people  here  are 
very  sad  for  us,  and  there  is  much  sympathy." 

"March  10.  It  has  been  many  days  since  I  have  ven- 
tured to  write:  it  has  been  so  difficult  to  say  anything 
definite,  with  the  constant  dread  of  another  relapse,  which 
we  have  thought  must  come  every  day:  yet  I  think  I  may 
now  venture  to  write  in  thanksgiving  that  my  mother  is 
restored  to  me  from  the  brink  of  the  grave.  It  seemed 
quite  impossible  that  she  could  come  back,  as  if  she  must 
enter  the  world  on  the  portals  of  which  she  had  been  so 
long  resting.     Doctor  and  nurse  gave  up  all  hope ;  and  at 

VOL.  II.  — 12 


178  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

Last  the  nurse  went  out,  saying  all  must  be  over  when  she 
returned   in   three   hours'  time.       In  "those   three   hours   the 

remedies  began  to  take  effect,  the  dead  limbs  to  revive, 
the  locked  mouth  to  open,  the  closed  eyes  to  see,  the 
hands  to  Eeel.  It  had  been  a  death-like  trance  of  a  hun- 
dred and  ninety-six  hours  altogether  —  ten  days  and  nine 
nights.  She  remembers  nothing  of  it  now,  and  nothing 
of  the  illness  which  came  before,  hut  a  gradual  revival 
and  awakening  of  all  her  powers  is  going  on.  It  has  been 
less  painful  to  her  throughout  than  to  any  one,  and  it  is 
so  still. 

"Dr.  Taylor  is  made  Sir  Alexander.  He  and  Lady 
Taylor  have  been  most  kind  to  us — -could  not  have  been 
more  so.  It  has  been  interesting  to  see  so  much  of  her, 
the  last  survivor  of  our  lather's  generation  in  the  family, 
and  one  who,  living  constantly  at  Ilurstnionceaux,  was 
present  through  all  the  old  family  crises  and  conflicts, 
which  she  narrates  with  much  of  sound  sense  and  observa- 
tion. I  shall  hope  to  write  down  much  of  her  recol- 
lections, and  shall  begin  in  good  earnest  to  collect  the 
memorials  of  that  earlier  family  period,  quite  as  curious 
in  its  way  as  many  later  ones."  ' 

"Paw,  March  27.  My  sweet  mother  continues  slightly 
better  certainly,  but  in  a  most  fragile  and  harassing  state 
of  health.  I  never  feel  happy  in  leaving  her,  even  for 
half-an-hour.  On  some  days  she  is  better  and  almost  able 
to  enjoy  reading  a  few  words,  or  being  read  to  a  little: 
on  others,  as  to-day,  the  trembling  increases  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  prevent  her  occupying  herself  in  any  way. 
I  need  not  say  how  beautiful  are  her  faith  and  love,  how 
increasing  the  beatitude  of  her  inner,  her  heavenly  life. 
'Oh,  how   long  it  is  since  I  have  been  at  church,'  she  said 

1  Tins  I  afterwards  carried  out  in  six  unpublished  volumes  of  the 
Memoirs  of  the  Hare  Family. 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  179 

last  night.  '  But  you  are  always  at  church  in  your  soul, 
darling,'  I  said.  '  Yes,'  she  answered,  '  that  is  the  greater 
part  of  my  day  —  meditation  and  prayer,  and  in  the  night 
I  say  my  hymns  and  texts.'  On  my  birthday  she  gave  me 
a  solemn  blessing.  Each  day  I  watch  her  every  look  and 
movement.  Truly  I  feel  as  if  the  pulse  of  her  life  beat 
into  mine.  She  does  not  see  many  people,  but  our  sweet 
little  cousin  Lady  Dashwood,  Lady  Taylor,  and  Lady 
Charles  Clinton  come  occasionally. 

"  Pau  is  the  most  unattractive  place  I  ever  was  in,  and 
it  pours  or  snows  almost  incessantly.  The  'society'  is 
small,  good,  and  uninteresting,  and  snubs  the  immense 
remainder  of  the  Anglo-Pau  world  with  hearty  goodwill. 

"  For  some  days  we  have  been  very  sad  about  dear 
Emma  Leycester,  who  has  been  terribly  ill:  at  least  I 
have  been,  for  I  think  the  mother  has  scarcely  taken  in 
the  great  cause  for  alarm." 

I  think  the  name  of  this  most  dear  cousin,  Emma 
Leycester    (Charlotte's    much    younger    sister),    has 
scarcely  been  mentioned  in  these  memoirs,  and  yet 
there  was  scarcely  any  one  who  had  a  tenderer  place 
in  our  home  life  and  thoughts,  or  to  whom  we  were 
more  devoted.     Perhaps  the    very   fact  of   omitting 
her   shows  how   entirely    she  must  have   kept  aloof 
from  all  family  squabbles  and  disorders,  whilst  rejoic- 
ing  in  iall  our  pleasures   and  sorrowing   in  all    our 
griefs.     She  was  never  strong,  and  I  always  recollect 
her  as  a  semi-invalid,  yet  more  animated  and  cheer- 
ful than  most  people  in  strong  health,  and  able,  from 
the   very  fact  of  weakness  removing  her  from  the 
general  turmoil  of  all  that  was  going  on  around  her, 
to  give  her  full  attention  and  sympathy  to  the  things 
she  could  participate  in.     Small  in  person,  she  was 


180  THE    STORY    <>F    MY    LIFE  [1865 

of  a  most  sweet  countenance,  with  grey  hair,  a  most 
delicate  coin]  ilex  ion,  and  bright  eyes,  full  of  expres- 
sion and  humour  — 

"  Her  angel's  face 
As  the  great  eye  of  heaven,  shyned  bright. 
And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place."  1 

As  a  child,  in  her  visits  to  Stoke  and  Lime,  I  was 
quite  devoted  to  her,  and  in  the  persecutions  of  my 
boyhood  was  comforted  by  her  unfailing  sympathy. 
When  at  Southgate,  the  greatest  pleasure  of  my 
London  excursions  was  that  they  sometimes  ended 
at  "  Charlotte  and  Emma's  house "  in  Wilton  Cres- 
cent, and  that  I  often  went  to  have  tea  Avith  the  dear 
Emma,  who  was  already  gone  to  rest  upon  the  sofa 
in  her  own  little  sitting-room.  When  T  was  at  Ox- 
ford she  came  to  visit  me  there ;  and  latterly  the  loss 
of  her  own  brother  and  sister  had  drawn  this  sister- 
like cousin  nearer  to  my  mother  as  well  as  to  myself. 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"  Paw,  April  6, 1865,  8  P.  M.  I  must  write  one  little  line 
of  love  this  evening:  the  sad  news  reached  us  two  hours 
ago,  and  you  will  know  how  we  are  mourning  with  you. 
I  had  just  a  hope,  and  can  hardly  feel  yet  that  dearest 
Emma's  sweet  presence,  her  loving  tender  sympathy  and 
interest,  are  taken  from  us  in  this  world:  but  may  we  not 
feel  that  she  is  perhaps  still  near  us  in  her  perfected  state, 
and  to  you  and  to  my  darling  mother  even  the  visible 
separation  may  be  a  very  short  one,  it  can  only  be  a  few 
years  —  long  here,  but  like  a  moment  to  her,  till  the  meet- 
ing again. 

"  I  am  glad  to  think  of  you  at  Toft,  and  of  her  resting 
there,  where  we  can  visit  the  grave.  I  feel  so  deeply  not 
1  Spenser,  "  Faerie  Queene." 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH    THE   MOTHER  181 

being  able  to  be  with  you,  or  to  do  anything  for  you,  as 
dearest  Emma  so  often  said  I  should  do  for  her,  if  you 
were  taken  from  her. 

"  The  news  came  at  tea-time.  It  was  impossible  to  con- 
ceal it.  The  mother  had  had  a  suffering  day,  and  was 
utterly  crushed.  We  put  her  to  bed  at  once,  and  very 
soon  she  literally  'fell  asleep  for  sorrow,'  and  I,  watch- 
ing beside  her,  heard  her  lips  murmur,  '  O  blessed  are 
they  who  die  in  Thee,  O  Lord,  for  they  rest  from  their 
labours.'  " 

"  UEstelle,  April  8.  My  mother  continued  so  seriously 
ill  up  to  yesterday  morning,  that  I  was  certain  if  she  were 
not  moved  at  once,  I  must  not  hope  she  ever  would  be. 
Dr.  Taylor  declined  to  take  the  responsibility,  but  I  felt 
some  one  must  act ;  so  I  sent  for  a  large  carriage,  and  had 
her  carried  down  into  it  like  a  baby,  and  brought  off  here, 
only  two  hours'  easy  drive  from  Pau.  Before  we  had 
gone  six  miles  she  began  to  revive,  was  carried  to  her 
room  without  exhaustion,  and  to-day  opens  her  eyes  on  a 
lovely  view  of  the  snow  mountains  above  the  chestnut 
woods,  with  a  rushing  river  and  the  old  convent  of  Be- 
tharram  in  the  gorge,  which  is  a  wonderful  refreshment 
after  having  lived  in  a  narrow  street,  and  seen  nothing  but 
a  whitewashed  wall  opposite  for  eleven  weeks.  Already 
she  is  better." 

To  my  Sister. 

"  VEstelle,  April  9.  You  will  have  heard  of  our  great 
sorrow.  ...  A  week  ago  dearest  Emma's  fever  passed 
and  took  the  form  of  prayer,  which,  as  Charlotte  says, 
'  flowed  like  a  river.'  Once  she  said,  k  I  have  been  fed 
with  angels'  food ;  I  did  not  ash  for  it,  I  could  not,  but  I 
have  had  it.'  Her  last  resting-place  is  at  Toft.  Charlotte 
was  able  to  be  present.  ...  I  feel  that,  though  we  have 


L82 


THE    STOKY    OF   MY   LIFE 


[1865 


main  still  to  love,  no  one  ean  ever  fill  the  sarm    place  in 
our  hearts." 

During  my  mother's  long  illness  at  Pau,  J  naturally 
thought  of  nothing,  and  saw  scarcely  any  one,  but 
her.  In  the  last  three  weeks,  however,  after  her 
rally,  and  before  the  last  alarm,  1  saw  a  few  people, 
amongst  them  very  frequently  Lady  Vere  Cameron, 
whose  husband,  Cameron  of  Lochiel,  had  been  known 


o 


BETH  A  RR  AM.1 


to  my  mother  from  girlhood.  Through  Lady  Vere, 
I  was  introduced  to  a  remarkable  circle  then  at  Pau, 
which  formed  a  society  entirely  occupied  with  spirit- 
ualism. Most  extraordinary  were  the  experiences 
they  had  to  narrate.  I  have  kept  some  notes  of  my 
acquaintance  with  them  :  — 

"Pau,  M arch,  1865.     When  I  was  at  Lady  Vere  Cam- 
eron's, the  subject  of  table-turning  was  brought  forward,  and 

1  From  "  South -Western  France.'' 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH    THE   MOTHER  183 

I  then  said  that  I  had  been  told  that  I  was  a  medium, 
meaning  merely  with  reference  to  tables.  We  sat  down  to 
a  table  and  it  turned.  Soon  it  began  to  rap  violently,  and 
a  scratching  noise  was  heard  underneath.  This  I  believe 
to  have  been  owing  to  some  ventriloquism  on  the  part  of 
Ferdinand  Russell,  who  was  present,  but  it  excited  Lady 
Vere  very  much. 

"  Some  days  after  I  had  a  note  from  Lady  Vere  to  desire 
that  I  would  come  to  be  introduced  to  her  'particular 
friend,'  Mrs.  Gregory,  at  a  party  in  her  own  house.  As  I 
knew  that  Mrs.  Gregory  was  a  great  spiritualist  and  much 
occupied  with  the  subject,  I  naturally  supposed  that  this 
desire  to  make  my  acquaintance  was  due  to  the  table- 
turning  at  Lady  Vere's,  and  I  went  expecting  to  find  a 
seance. 

u  But  it  was  a  large  party,  a  great  number  of  people 
whom  I  had  never  seen  before.  Mrs.  Gregory  had  the  odd 
expression  of  always  looking  for  something  behind  her. 
She  spoke  at  once  of  my  being  a  medium,  and  then  said  in 
an  excited  manner,  '  But  are  you  far  advanced  ?  are  you 
like  me  ?  when  a  friend  is  going  to  die,  do  you  see  it 
written  before  you  in  letters  of  light  there  ? '  — pointing  into 
vacancy.  'No,'  I  said,  "certainly  not:  that  never  happens 
to  me.'  Speaking  of  this  afterwards  to  a  Mr.  Hamilton,  he 
bade  me  beware,  for  very  unpleasant  things  often  happened 
at  Mrs.  Gregory's  seances,  or,  if  they  did  not  happen,  every 
one  present  believed  that  they  did  —  that  hands  appeared, 
&c. :  that  his  cousin,  Mrs.  H.  of  S.,  had  received  messages 
from  her  child  who  was  dead :  that  others  also  had  received 
messages  from  their  dead  relations.  The  meetings  were 
always  solemnly  opened  with  prayer. 

"  At  Mrs.  White  Hedges'  I  saw  Mrs.  H.  She  said  that 
she  also  was  certain  that  I  was  a  medium,  and  asked 
whether  I  did  not  frequently  have  messages  from  the  other 
world.  I  said  '  No,'  and  that  I  did  not  wish  to  have  any. 
'  What,'  she  said,  with  a  look  of  great  surprise,  '  you  do 


184  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

not  wish,  then,  for  the  regeneration  of  the  world:  for  if 
you  did  you  would  feel  that  it  can  only  be  brought  about 
through  the  instrumentality  of  spirits.'" 

"April  4.  At  Lady  Robinson's1  1  again  met  Mrs. 
Gregory,  who  asked  me  to  come  on  the  6th  to  help  her  to 
turn  a  table,  and  see  if  1  should  receive  any  messages.  I 
agreed  to  do  so,  understanding  that  nothing  more  was  in- 
tended than  she  said.  Afterwards  1  sat  by  Miss  N.  1.., 
who  said,  4  I  see  that  terrible  woman  has  been  getting  hold 
of  you.  Pray  don't  go.  You  don't  know  what  you  will 
see.  Every  one  who  goes  is  beguiled  by  small  pretexts  till 
they  see  the  most  appalling  things.  It  can  only  be  through 
the  devil.' 

"  Persuaded  by  Miss  N.  L.,  I  went  to  Mrs.  Gregory  and 
said,  w  Mis.  Gregory,  do  tell  me  exactly  what  you  expect  to 
happen  on  Thursday,  because  1  do  not  wish  to  see  any- 
thing.' 

"'Oil,  you  are  a  coward,  are  you'/"  said  both  Mrs.  Greg- 
ory and  Mrs.  Alexander,  who  was  sitting  near  her. 

•b '  Yes,  certainly  I  am  a  coward  about  trifling  with  the 
supernatural.  It  is  not  because  I  do  not  believe  that 
spirits  can  return  from  the  dead,  but  because  I  do  believe 
it,  that  I  would  rather  not  come,  if  you  expect  to  see 
anything.' 

" '  Well,  I  can  only  say  that  both  seeing  and  receiving 
messages  are  the  greatest  possible  comfort  to  me:  it  is 
only  that  which  keeps  me  in  my  right  mind,'  said  Mrs. 
Gregory. 

"  I  answered  that  I  should  dislike  being  upset  for  the 
ordinary  and  practical  duties  of  life  by  being  led  to  dwell 
constantly  upon  the  supernatural. 

"  '  That  is  precisely  what  strikes  me  as  the  greatest  ad- 
vantage,' said  Mrs.  Gregory ;  k  surely  one  cannot  think  too 
much  of  the  other  world.     To  feel  that  spirits  are   con- 
stantly watching  you,  and  grieving  or  rejoicing  over  you, 
1  Wife  of  Sir  George  Robinson  of  Crauford. 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  185 

must  surely  tend  to  keep  you  from  a  great  deal  of  evil.  I 
have  known  many  infidels  entirely  converted  to  a  new  and 
Christian  life  by  what  they  have  seen  with  me  —  Mr. 
Ruskin,  for  instance.  I  asked  Mr.  Ruskin  one  day  what 
he  believed,  and  he  answered,  "  Simply  nothing."  He 
afterwards  came  to  my  house  several  times  when  I  had 
stances,  and  then  he  took  my  hands,  and  with  tears  in  his 
eyes  said,  "  Mrs.  Gregory,  I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for 
what  you  have  shown  me  :  it  will  change  my  whole  life,  for 
because  I  have  seen  I  believe."  Mr.  Pickersgill  the  artist 
was  another  instance.  Certainly  hands  often  appear  to  me, 
but  I  like  to  see  them.  If  you  had  lost  any  one  who  was  ;t 
part  of  your  life,  would  you  not  like  to  know  that  you 
were  receiving  a  message  from  those  you  loved?  You 
need  not  be  afraid  of  the  messages  I  receive.  Just  before 
I  came  here  I  received  this  message  —  "  Keep  close  to  God 
in  prayer."  There  was  nothing  dreadful  in  that,  was 
there  ?  Was  not  that  a  beautiful  message  to  receive  ?  But 
sometimes  the  spirits  are  conflicting.  There  are  good  and 
bad  spirits.  If  the  messages  are  not  such  as  we  should 
wish,  then  we  know  the  bad  spirits  are  there.  All  this  is 
in  the  Bible,  "Ye  shall  try  the  spirits,  whether  the}r  be 
good  or  evil."  This  is  one  of  the  means  of  grace  which 
God  gives  us :  surely  we  ought  not  to  turn  aside  from  it.' 

"  Afterwards  I  asked  Lady  Robinson  her  experience. 
She  said  that  she  had  been  at  one  of  the  stances,  but 
nothing  appeared  and  '  the  Indicator '  gave  nothing  de- 
cided. She  said  it  was  conducted  most  seriously,  with  all 
religious  feeling.  She  described  Mrs.  Gregory  as  not  only 
praying  at  the  time,  but  living  in  a  state  of  prayer,  and  she 
believed  that  the  messages  were  granted  in  answer  to  real 
faith.  She  said  quantities  of  people  had  seen  the  hands 
appear.  Mrs.  Gregory  had  a  very  large  stance  at  Sir 
William  Gomm's  in  London,  and  Lady  Gomm  asked  for 
an  outward  sign  before  she  would  believe.  A  bodiless 
hand  then  appeared,  and,  taking  up  a  vase  with  a  plant  in 


186  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [I860 

it  from  a  china  dish  upon  the  table,  set  it  on  the  floor,  and 
then  breaking  a  flower  from  the  plant,  came  and  laid  it  in 
Lady  Gromm's  lap:  all  the  company  saw  it. 

"•I  told  the  Taylors  what  I  had  heard.  Sir  Alexander 
said  that  he  thought  the  chief  good  of  such  a  clever  physi- 
cian as  .Mis.  Gregory's  husband  (Dr.  Gregory  of  the  pow- 
ders appearing  would  be  to  write  a  prescription  for  the 
living." 

While  we  were  at  Pan,  my  sister  wrote  much  to 
me  upon  the  death  of  Cardinal  Wiseman,  to  whom 
she  was  greatly  devoted,  and  whom  I  have  always 
believed  to  be  a  most  sagacious  and  large-hearted 
man.  His  burly  figure  upon  the  sands  at  Eastbourne 
used  to  be  very  familiar  to  me  in  my  boyhood.  I 
heard  Monsignor  Capel,  who  afterwards  attained  some 
celebrity,  preach  his  funeral  sermon  at    Pan. 

"Thirty  years  ago.'*  he  said,  -there  were  only  six  Cath- 
olic ehurches  in  London  ;  now  there  are  forty-six.  Then 
there  were  six  Catholic  schools  in  London ;  now  there  are 
at  least  three  in  each  of  these  parishes  —  one  for  boys,  one 
for  girls,  and  one  for  infants.  Then  there  were  only  30,000 
( 'atholics  in  all  England ;  now  there  are  two  millions,  one- 
ninth  of  the  whole  population  of  the  country.  Then  there 
were  no  religious  Orders  except  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  who 
had  lingered  on  from  the  Reformation,  flying  from  one 
Catholic  house  to  another,  and  administering  the  sacra- 
ments in  fear  and  trembling  :  now  there  are  in  London  the 
followers  of  St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic,  the  Passionist 
Fathers,  the  Redemptorists,  and  at  least  twelve  nunneries 
of  English  ladies.  All  this  change  is  in  a  great  measure 
due  to  Cardinal  Wiseman,  the  founder  of  the  Eno-lish 
hierarchy.  He  entered  on  his  labours  in  troublous  times: 
with  the  enthusiasm  and  love  of  splendid  ritual  which  he 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  187 

imbibed  as  a  Spanish  boy,  with  the  ecclesiastical  learning  of 
Italy,  with  the  dogmatic  perseverance  and  liberality  which 
he  drank  in  with  his  English  education.  He  chose  as  the 
title  of  his  bishopric  the  see  of  the  last  martyred  English 
bishop,  and  he  also  thirsted  for  martyrdom." 


These  notes  are  curious  as  showing  how  the  rapid 
growth  of  Catholicism  in  England,  which  we  Protes- 
tants are  so  unwilling  to  recognise,  had  advanced 
under  Cardinal  Wiseman's  leadership. 

At  L'Estelle  my  mother  daily  revived,  and  was 
soon  able  to  sit  out  on  the  sunny  balcony,  for  the 
valleys  of  the  Pyrenees  were  already  quite  hot,  though 
the  trees  were  leafless  and  the  mountains  covered 
with  snow.  It  was  long,  however,  before  I  ventured 
to  leave  her  to  go  beyond  the  old  convent  of  Bethar- 
ram,  with  its  booths  of  relics  and  its  calvary  on  a 
hill.  When  she  was  stronger,  we  moved  to  Argeles, 
a  beautiful  upland  valley,  whence  excursions  are  very 
easy  to  Cauterets  and  Luz.  Afterwards  we  visited 
Eaux  Chaudes  and  Eaux  Bonnes ;  but  though  the 
snow  was  too  deep  to  allow  of  mountain  rambles,  the 
heat  was  already  too  intense  for  enjoyment  of  the  val- 
leys. We  had  left  Pau  without  a  sign  of  vegetation, 
and  when  we  came  back  three  weeks  later,  it  was  in 
all  the  deadest,  heaviest  green  of  summer.  So  it  was 
a  great  refreshment  to  move  at  once  to  Biarritz,  with 
its  breezy  uplands,  covered  with  pink  daphne,  and  its 
rolling,  sparkling,  ever-changing  sea,  so  splendid  in 
colour.  To  my  mother,  Biarritz  was  a  complete  re- 
storative, and  she  was  able  there  to  take  up  her  draw- 
ing again,  to  enjoy  seeing  friends,  and  to  enter  into 


I  SS  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1865 

the  interests  and  peculiarities  of  the  curious  Basque 
country. 

We  visited  many  of  the  Basque  churches,  which 
are  always  encircled  within  by  three  galleries,  except 
over  the  altar.  These  galleries  are  of  black  oak.  The 
men  sit  in  the  galleries,  and  the  women  below,  and 
they  enter  at  different  doors.  In  the  churchyards  the 
graves  have  all  little  crosses  or  Basque  head-stones 
with  round  tops,  and  they  are  all  planted  with 
flowers.  The  houses  all  have  wide  overhanging  roofs 
and  external  wooden  galleries.     Bidart  and  Cam  ho  are 


BIAKRITZ. 


good  specimens  of  Basque  villages.  Bidart  is  a  beau- 
tiful place  on  the  road  to  S.  Jean  de  Luz,  and  has  a 
church  with  the  characteristic  overhanging  belfry  and 
high  simple  buttresses.  A  wide  entry  under  the 
organ-loft  is  the  only  entrance  to  the  church.  In  the 
hollow  below  is  a  broken  bridge  reflected  in  a  pool, 
which  is  golden  at  sunset,  and  which,  witli  the  distant 
sea  and  sands,  and  the  old  houses  with  their  wooden 
balconies  scattered  over  the  hillside,  forms  a  lovely 
picture.       Here  I  stayed  one  evening  to  draw  with 

1  From  "  South-Western  Fiance." 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  189 

Miss  Elizabeth  Blommart,  an  acquaintance  we  made 
at  Biarritz  (afterwards  our  friend  for  many  years), 
while  my  mother  and  Lea  walked  on,  and  descended 
from  the  opposite  hill  upon  the  sands.  We  had  often 
been  told  of  the  treacherous  waves  of  Bidart,  but 
could  not  have  believed  in  danger  —  so  distant,  be- 
yond the  long  reaches  of  sand,  seemed  the  calm  At- 
lantic, glistening  in  the  last  rays  of  sunlight.  To  our 
horror,  when  we  had  nearly  finished  our  drawing,  we 
looked  up,  and  saw  my  mother  and  Lea  coming 
towards  us  pouring  with  salt  water  from  cloaks,  bon- 
nets, everything.  They  had  been  walking  unsuspi- 
ciously on  the  sands  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the 
sea,  when  suddenly,  without  any  warning,  a  great 
wave  surrounded  them.  My  mother  was  at  once 
swept  off  her  feet,  but  Lea,  with  her  usual  presence 
of  mind,  caught  her  cloak  and  rolled  it  round  her 
arm,  and  plunging  herself  deep  into  the  sand,  resisted 
the  water  and  held  her  mistress  till  the  wave  receded, 
when  they  made  their  escape.  A  few  days  afterwards 
an  Englishman  with  his  little  dog  was  walking  in  the 
Bay  of  Bidart;  the  man  escaped,  but  the  dog  was 
swept  out  to  sea. 

Cambo  is  two  hours'  drive  from  Biarritz  —  a  most 
pleasant  watering-place  on  a  high  terrace  above  the 
Nive,  with  pergolas  of  vines  and  planes,  a  churchyard 
which  is  a  perfect  blaze  of  lilies  and  roses,  and  an  inn- 
garden  which  is  full  of  lovely  flowers.  Close  by  is 
the  opening  to  the  Pas  de  Roland,  a  grand  little  gorge 
where  the  Nive  rushes  through  the  mountains  —  a 
finer  Dovedale.  A  rocky  path  ascends  by  the  side  of 
the  stream  and  climbs  a  succession  of  steeps  to  la 


190 


THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE 


[1865 


roch  /'i  rcee,  through  which  it  passes  to  a  little  hamlet 
and  old  bridge.  Eighteen  miles  farther  is  S.  Jean  ile 
Port,  whence  one  can  ride  to  Roncesvalles. 

The  whole  of  this  Basque  country  is  full  of  memo- 
rials of  the  Peninsular  War,  the  events  of  which  in 
this  district  are  wonderfully  well  described  in  the 
novel  of  "The  Subaltern."  There  are  deep  woods 
and  glens  which  ran  down  with  blood;  green  lanes 
(as  at  Irogne)  which  were  scenes  of  desperate  com- 


THE    PAS    DE    ROLAND.1 


bats;  tombs  of  English  officers,  as  in  the  churchyard 
at  Bidart  and  in  the  picturesque  mayor's  garden  be- 
tween Bidart  and  Biarritz,  where  a  flat  stone  com- 
memorating three  English  officers  is  to  be  seen  under 
the  old  apple-trees,  overlooking  a  wide  expanse  of 
country.     The  most  dreadful  slaughter  was  near  the 

1  From  "South-Western  France." 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  191 

Negressa  Station,  where  the  two  armies,  having  occu- 
pied the  ridges  on  either  side  the  lake,  suffered  fright- 
ful carnage.  It  might  have  been  spared,  but  in  both 
armies  it  was  then  unknown  that  Napoleon  had  abdi- 
cated, and  that  peace  was  proclaimed.  Between  S. 
Jean  de  Luz  and  the  Behobia  is  a  picturesque  old 
chateau,  which  was  taken  by  the  English  after  an 
easy  siege,  the  inhabitants  having  been  forced  to  fly 
with  such  precipitation  that  everything  was  aban- 
doned, even  the  mail-bags  which  they  had  just  seized 
being  left  behind  and  the  contents  scattered  about  on 
the  floor.  The  first  letter  the  English  officer  in  com- 
mand picked  up  was  directed  to  himself,  and  from  his 
own  father !  He  took  nothing  from  the  house  but  a 
Spanish  dictionary  from  the  library,  but  returning 
that  way  three  weeks  afterwards,  found  it  completely 
pillaged  by  the  Spanish  camp-followers. 

The  peasantry  of  the  Basque  country  are  most  in- 
teresting to  talk  to,  and  it  is  strange  that  more  should 
not  have  been  said  and  written  about  them,  as  their 
conversation  is  more  full  of  ancient  proverbs  and  folk- 
lore than  that  of  the  inhabitants  of  any  other  part  of 
France.  I  remember  an  old  Basque  woman  saying 
that  her  language  was  not  only  the  best,  but  far  the 
oldest  in  the  world  —  in  fact,  it  was  that  which  Adam 
and  Eve  spoke  in  Paradise  ! 

Twice,  while  we  were  at  Biarritz,  I  made  excursions 
into  Spain,  crossing  the  Bidassoa  close  to  the  Isle  of 
Pheasants  with  intense  interest.  In  all  the  Spain  I 
have  seen  since,  there  is  nothing  more  utterly  Spanish 
than  the  tiny  walled  town  of  Fontarabia,  with  its 
wooden  balconies  piled  one   above  another,  and   its 


192 


THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE 


[1865 


look-out  over  a  blue  estuary.  Most  striking  also  is 
Passages,  —  a  Land-locked  bay  of  the  sea  with  a  wry 
narrow  opening,  which  is  passed   on  the   way  to  S. 

Sebasl  tan. 

Our  return  journey  to  England  in   the  late  spring 
was  very  delightful.    My  mother,  in  entire  enjoyment 


- ■,  v 
■ 


- 

1  -ftJr^ 


m 


S.    EMILION    CATHEDRAL    DOOR.1 


of  her  marvellously  restored  health,  and  delighting 
to  drink  in  the  full  beauties  of  nature  and  antiquity, 
was  in  no  hurry  to  return  to  the  turmoil  of  English 
life.     We  lingered   everywhere,  making   short   half- 

1  From  "South-Western  France." 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE  MOTHER  193 

day  journeys,  and  spending  quiet  afternoons  sketch- 
ing in  the  grass-grown  streets  of  half-deserted  cities,  or 
driving  out  in  little  carriages  to  grand  old  chateaux. 
Thus  we  first  saw  S.  Emilion,  that  marvellous  place, 
where  the  buildings  are  so  mingled  with  the  living 
rock,  that  you  scarcely  can  tell  where  the  work  of 
man  begins,  and  where  each  sculptured  cornice  glows 
in  late  spring  with  a  glory  of  crimson  valerian.  In 
one  of  the  quietest  streets  of  Poitiers,  before  a  cot- 
tage door,  we  bought  an  old  inlaid  table,  which  is 
one  of  the  pleasantest  memorials  of  our  journey.  At 
Amboise  we  stayed  several  days  in  a  most  primitive 
but  charming  hotel,  the  vision  of  my  dear  mother 
in  which  often  comes  back  to  me,  sitting  with  her 
psalm-book  in  a  low  room  with  white-washed  walls 
and  brick  floor,  and  with  a  latticed  window  looking 
out  over  the  great  river  glistening  in  the  sunset.  My 
mother  liked  and  admired  Amboise *  more  than  almost 
any  of  our  thousand  resting-places,  and  she  delighted 
in  the  excursions  to  moated  Chenonceaux  and  to  Cham- 
borcl,  where  we  and  Lea  had  tea  and  bilberry  jam  at 
a  delightful  little  inn  which  then  existed  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  forest. 

On  the  27th  of  May  we  reached  Holmhurst.  One 
of  those  curious  incidents  which  are  inexplicable  had 
occurred  during  our  absence,  and  was  narrated  to  us, 
on  our  return,  by  our  servants,  neighbours,  and  by 
Mrs.  Hale,  the  wife  of  our  Hastings  doctor.  During 
my  mother's  illness  at  Pau,  two  of  our  maids,  Alice 
and  Jane  Lathom,  slept,  according  to  their  custom,  in 
one  of  the  spare  rooms  to  the  front  of  the  house.     In 

1  Xow  terribly  modernised  and  spoilt. 

VOL.    II.  —  13 


11)4  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

the  middle  of  the  night  they  were  both  aroused  by 
three  piercing  terrible  screams  in  the  room  elose  to 
the  bed.  Petrified  with  horror,  they  hid  under  the  bed- 
clothes, and  lay  thus  more  dead  than  alive  till  morn- 
ing. With  the  first  streak  of  dawn  they  crept  down 
the  passage  to  John  Gidman's  room,  roused  him,  and 
told  him  what  had  happened.  He  felt  it  was  certainly 
an  omen  that  the  death  they  expected  had  occurred; 
took  the  carriage  and  drove  down  at  once  to  St.  Leo- 
nards to  Mrs.  Hale.  Dr.  and  .Mrs.  Hale  were  at 
breakfast  when   John  Gidman   arrived  and   sent   in 


rJU] 


AMBROISK. 


word  that  his  mistress  was  dead.  When  they  went 
out,  they  found  he  had  received  no  letter,  but  had 
only  an  inward  conviction  of  the  event  from  what 
had  happened. 

It  was  the  same  hour  at  which  my  mother,  wak- 
ing from  her  second  trance  in  her  room  at  Pan,  had 
uttered  three  long  piercing  screams  in  her  wandering, 
and  said,  "  Oh,  I  shall  never,  never  see  my  dear  Holm- 
hurst  again !  " 

There  is  no  explanation  to  offer. 

1  From  "  South-Western  France." 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  195 

We  had  much  enjoyment  of  our  little  Holmhurst 
this  summer  and  a  constant  succession  of  guests. 
Amongst  those  who  now  came  annually  were  Arthur 
Stanley  and  his  wife  Lady  Augusta.  To  my  mother, 
Augusta  Stanley  was  always  a  very  tender  and 
dutiful  niece,  and  to  me  a  most  kind  cousin.  She 
rejoiced  to  aid  my  mother  in  acting  as  a  drag  to 
Arthur's  ever-increasing  impression  that  the  creed 
of  progress  and  the  creed  of  Christianity  were 
identical.  Many  people  thought  that  such  an  in- 
tense, almost  universal  warmth  of  manner  as  hers 
must  be  insincere,  but  with  her  it  was  perfectly 
natural.  She  took  the  sunshine  of  court  favour,  in 
which  they  both  lived,  quite  simply,  accepting  it 
quietly,  very  glad  that  the  Royal  Family  valued  her, 
but  never  bringing  it  forward.  She  was  indeed  well 
worthy  of  the  confidence  which  her  royal  mistress  re- 
posed in  her,  for  though  the  Queen  wrote  to  her  daily, 
and  though  she  generally  came  in  to  breakfast  with 
several  sheets  in  the  large  well-known  handwriting, 
not  one  word  from  them  ever  transpired  to  her  nearest 
relation  or  dearest  friend. 

What  Lord  Beaconsfield  called  "  Arthur  Stanley's 
picturesque  sensibility"  made  him  care  more  than 
Augusta  about  having  royal  (i.  e.  historic)  friendships, 
though  he  had  less  personal  feelings  than  she  had  for 
the  illustrious  persons  who  made  them.  He  was, 
however,  quite  devoted  to  the  Queen,  to  her  own 
personality,  and  would  certainly  have  been  so  had  she 
been  in  any  other  position  of  life.  The  interests  of 
Westminster  made  him  very  happy,  and  he  rejoiced 
in  the  duty  which  fell  upon  him  of  preserving  the 


196  THE   STORY  OF   MY  LIFE  [1S65 

Abbey  as  he  received  it,  furious  when  it  was  suggested 
that  some  of  the  inferior  and  ugly  monuments  might 
be  removed,  or  that  the  peculiar  character  of  the  choir 
(like  a  Spanish  cow)  might  be  altered.  Always  more 
a  lover  of  moral  than  of  doctrinal,  or  even  spiritual 
Christianity,  at  this  time  he  was  beginning  to  be  the 
victim  of  a  passion  for  heretics  which  went  on  increas- 
ing afterwards.  The  Scotch  were  delighted  with  him  : 
they  thought  he  had  an  enthusiastic  admiration  for 
their  Church.  But  he  almost  equally  admired  all 
schismatics  from  the  Church  to  which  he  officially 
belonged,  and  was  almost  equally  interested  in  them, 
and  if  he  could  get  any  one  with  ever  so  slight  a  tamt 
of  heresy  to  preach  in  the  Abbey,  it  was  a  great  de- 
light to  him  :  he  thought  it  was  setting  an  example 
of  Christian  liberality. 

My  sister  left  Rome  with  her  aunt  at  the  end 
of  May  (I860).  At  Pisa  she  took  leave  of  her 
beloved  Victoire,  who  remained  at  her  own  house. 
When  she  reached  France,  weakness  prevented  her 
intended  visit  to  Paray  le  Monial,  whence  the  nuns 
sent  her  the  following  rules  for  the  employment  of 
"  The  Holy  Hour  "  in  acts  of  reparation  for  insults 
offered  to  our  Lord  by  the  sins  of  men :  — 

(  Short  acts.  —  "  Lord,  I  believe,  help  thou 

1.  Unbelief.  <      mine  unbelief." 

(  Faith.  —  "Lord,  increase  our  faith,"  &c. 

2.  Ridicule,  mockery. — Secret  prayers  for  the  scoffers. 

3.  Irreverence.  —  Special  reverence  towards  the  Blessed 
Sacrament. 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE  MOTHER  197 

4.  Rash  judgments.  —  Acts  of  reparation  to  the  Sacred 
Heart. 

5.  Unlawful  opinion.  —  Silence  upon  things  settled  by 
authority. 

6.  Careless  life.  —  Act  of  offering  morning  and  night 
against  frivolous  and  immoderate  words  and  actions. 

7.  Love  of  ease  and  pleasure.  —  Simple  acts  of  mortifi- 
cation and  self-denial  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Esmeralda  was  detained  for  some  time  by  serious 
illness  at  Dijon,  with  the  strange  symptoms  which 
three  years  later,  attended  her  final  illness,  and  which 
were  then  inexplicable  to  all  around  her.  On  her 
recovery,  Madame  de  Trafford  met  her  at  Paris,  and 
insisted  that  she  should  follow  her  to  her  chateau  in 
Touraine.     Hence  Esmeralda  wrote  :  — 

"  Chdteau  de  Beaujour,  June  1865.  You  will  have  heard 
from  Auntie  of  our  arrival  in  this  fairy  chateau.  ...  I 
have  heard  much  that  is  wonderful,  but  what  is  most  strik- 
ing is  to  watch  the  perfect  simplicity  of  a  life  so  gifted  as 
Madame  de  Trafford's  —  the  three  virtues,  Faith,  Hope, 
and  Charity,  that  faith  which  can  move  mountains,  and 
with  it  great  humility.  Madame  de  Trafford  is  deeply 
interested  in  any  details  I  give  her  of  the  last  six  years : 
she  was  really  attached  to  Mama.  Here,  in  her  chateau, 
she  saw  that  Mama  was  dying.  She  turned  suddenly 
round  to  Mr.  Trafford,  who  was  here,  and  said,  '  Ah !  elle 
va  mourir  —  sortons.'  She  could  not  bear  it,  and  felt  that 
she  must  go  out  into  the  open  air. 

"  We  shall  be  in  London  some  time  next  week,  with 
endless  affairs  to  settle.  I  quite  dread  the  lawyers'  deeds, 
days  and  weeks  of  worry,  never  ending  and  still  beginning. 

"  I  think  of  you  once  more  in  your  study,  as  if  a  new 
life  were  given  you,  and  dear  Aunt  Augustus  in  her  arm- 
chair, and  everything  bright  and  beautiful  around  you." 


HIS  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

Of  this,  her  first  visit  to  Beaujour,  Esmeralda  has 
lefi  a  tew  remarkable  notes. 

"July  1865.  Madame  de  Trafford  came  off  to  receive 
OS  ;it  l'aiis  as  soon  as  she  heard  we  were  on  our  way. 
Then,  when  she  heard  I  was  so  ill  at  Dijon,  she  often  tel- 
egraphed  there  four  times  a  <la\  to  Auntie,  to  the  master 
of  the  hotel,  to  every  one,  so  that  the\-  thought  at  Dijon 
that  I  was  quite  ' un  grand  personnage.'  At  last,  when  I 
was  better,  we  went  to  Beaujour.  Madame  de  Trafford 
sent  to  meet  us  at  Blois,  hut  not  her  own  horses,  because 
they  were  trap  vifs.  It  was  a  long  drive,  though  we  went 
at  a  great  pace,  for  Madame  de  Trafford  had  told  the 
coachman  he  was  to  drive  as  fast  as  possible.  At  last,  in 
the  avenue  of  poplars,  the  ruts  were  so  deep  that  I  thought 
we  should  have  been  overturned.  Beaujour  is  a  large 
square  house  with  wings  to  it.  Madame  de  Trafford  her- 
self opened  the  door,  with  a  handkerchief  over  her  head. 
'Ah!  voiis  voilii,'  she  said,  *  c'est  bien ;  il  y  a  longtemps 
que  je  vous  attends/ 

"  The  lower  part  of  the  chateau  is  unfurnished  and  vast. 
This  Madame  de  Trafford  considers  to  represent  chaos,  the 
chaos  of  nations.  On  the  upper  floor,  each  room  represents 
a  nation.  Where  she  considers  there  is  something  wanting 
to  the  nation,  there  is  some. piece  of  furniture  wanting  to 
the  room.  When  she  considers  that  a  nation  has  too  much, 
the  room  is  over-crowded.  Thus  in  England,  Canada, 
Gibraltar,  and  Malta  are  de  trop,  hut  India  she  allows  for. 

"  For  us  she  had  a  whole  suite  of  rooms  newly  furnished. 
I  had  a  hedroom,  boudoir,  dressing-room,  and  bath-room, 
and  Auntie  had  the  same.  They  contained  every  possible 
luxury.  My  bed  was  the  most  delicious  I  ever  slept  in. 
Madame  de  Trafford's  power  of  second  sight  had  enabled 
her  to  see  exactly  what  I  liked  best. 

•  \11  morning  we  sat  in  Madame  de  Trafford's  bedroom 
or  mine,  and  in  the  evening  in  the  sitting-rooms.     All  day 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  199 

she  talked  of  the  future  of  Europe.  '  Je  plane  sur 
l'Europe,'  she  used  to  say;  and,  when  she  was  about  to 
see  anything  — '  Mon  second  etre  s'en  va.' 

"  Madame  de  Trafford  is  frequently  in  conflict  with  the 
devil.  At  such  moments  she  is  perfectly  awful  —  quite 
sublime  in  her  grandeur.  She  will  repeat  sotto  voce  what 
he  says  to  her,  suggestions  of  pride,  &c,  —  and  then,  rais- 
ing herself  to  her  full  height,  in  a  voice  of  thunder  will 
bid  defiance  to  the  evil  spirit.  She  spoke  of  the  many 
things  in  connection  with  herself  which  made  people  say 
she  was  mad,  and  said  she  did  not  feel  it  safe  to  have 
people  to  stay  with  her  in  consequence.  I  told  her  that 
this  would  be  quite  impossible,  for  that  even  in  the 
week  which  I  had  spent  with  her,  I  had  seen  much  which 
others  never  ought  to  have  the  opportunity  of  seeing  and 
misjudging.  She  often  spoke  most  severely  of  my  faults, 
and  said  that  I  lived  too  much  for  myself.  '  Prenez  garde,' 
she  said,  '  que  vous  ne  passiez  pas  par  cette  petite  porte, 
que  j'ai  vue  une  fois.'  This  was  the  gate  of  hell.  She 
saw  it  in  a  most  awful  vision  —  the  judged  souls,  '  qu'ils 
baissent  leurs  tetes  et  passent  par  cette  petite  porte.' 

"  One  day  the  Cure"  sent  up  word  that  the  village  pro- 
cession was  coming  to  the  gates  of  the  chateau.  On  such 
an  occasion  an  altar  is  always  expected  to  be  prepared. 
There  was  a  dreadful  fuss  and  hurry,  but  it  had  to  be 
done.  A  foundation  of  barrels  was  covered  with  coloured 
cloths,  on  this  rose  a  higher  platform,  and  on  that  the 
altar.  Workmen  were  immediately  employed  to  dig  up 
trees  and  plant  them  around  it,  and  Cldmence  was  sent  to 
the  garden  to  dig  up  all  the  lilies  she  could  find.  When 
the  procession  arrived,  all  was  ready  and  the  people  were 
delighted." 

During  this  and  succeeding  visits  at  Beau  jour, 
Madame  de  Trafford  dictated  many  remarkable  pas- 
sages in  her  life  to  my  sister.     This  she  did  walking 


200  THE  STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1865 

up  and  down  the  room,  often  with  her  e}res  flaming 
and  her  arms  extended,  as  in  a  state  of  possession. 
At  such  times  she  would  often  break  off  her  narration 
and  suddenly  begin  addressing  the  spirit  within  her, 
which  answered  her  in  the  strange  voiee,  not  her 
own,  which  sometimes  came  from  her  lips.  Some  of 
the  stories  she  narrated  at  these  times  are  of  the 
wildest  description,  and  are  probably  mere  hallucina- 
tions, but  a  vein  of  truth  runs  through  them  all ;  and 
her  complete  biography,  as  I  still  preserve  it,  is  a 
most  curious  document.  Almost  all  her  stories  are 
tinged  by  her  enthusiasm  for  the  Bonaparte  family, 
with  whom  she  had  some  mysterious  connection. 
They  are  mingled  with  strange  visions  and  prophe- 
cies, many  of  which  have  undoubtedly  come  true,  and 
her  second-sight  caused  her  to  foresee,  and  in  one 
case  to  prevent,  an  attack  on  the  life  of  Napoleon  III. 
She  was  constantly  occupied  in  works  of  benevolence 
—  in  fact,  her  whole  life  wras  a  contest  between  good 
and  evil.  "  On  joue  sur  moi,"  she  said,  "  ce  sont  les 
bons  et  les  mauvais  esprits."  Sometimes,  when 
Esmeralda  happened  to  go  suddenly  into  the  room, 
she  would  find  Madame  de  Trafford,  with  livid  face 
and  glaring  eyes,  in  horrible  personal  conflict  with 
an  evil  spirit  — "  Prince  de  cette  terre,  adore  done 
ton  Createur  et  ton  Dieu."  In  a  late  life  of  Jeanne 
Dare,  whose  early  existence  amongst  spiritual  influ- 
ences is  much  like  that  of  Madame  de  Trafford, 
Catherine  de  l'Armagnac,  the  great  friend  of  Jeanne, 
i-  described  as  resembling  her,  and  the  observation 
is  made  that  this  extraordinary  power  remains  in  the 
Armagnac  family   still.      Madame  de   Trafford  was 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  201 

nee  Martine  Larmignac  (de  l'Armagnac).  But  it  was 
not  only  in  Jeanne  Dare  that  there  was  a  similarity 
to  the  visions,  the  voices,  the  inspirations  of  Madame 
de  Trafford :  exactly  the  same  appears  in  the  his- 
tories of  St.  Bridget,  St.  Catherine  of  Siena,  and 
Savonarola.  The  child-prophet  Samuel  also  heard 
such  voices  calling  to  him. 

In  her  "  Life,"  Madame  de  Trafford  says  that  she 
was  brought  up  at  Saumur,  where  spirits  surrounded 
and  talked  to  her  in  her  childhood.  When  she  was 
hungry,  she  believed  that  they  brought  her  food. 
She  was  starved  and  ill-treated  by  her  nominal 
mother,  but  her  nominal  father  was  kind  to  her. 
She  always  loved  the  poor,  and  they  loved  her.  She 
once  stole  a  loaf  to  give  to  a  poor  family.  She  was 
dressed  in  the  richest  child's  frocks  and  lace  till  she 
was  seven  years  old,  then  they  were  taken  away  and 
poor  clothes  were  given  to  her.  In  her  solitary  life 
at  Saumur  she  fancied  that  every  one  else  like  herself 
talked  to  spirits.   .  .   . 

To  escape  from  a  marriage  with  a  French  Count, 
and,  as  she  believed,  in  obedience  to  the  spirits,  Mar- 
tine  Larmignac  went  with  the  family  of  Sharpe  as 
governess  to  England.  Here  she  eventually  became 
the  second  wife  of  Mr.  Trafford  of  Wroxham  Hall  in 
Norfolk,  but  even  then  she  never  expected  happiness 
in  her  life.  She  said  that  a  spirit  announced  to  her 
before  her  marriage,  "  Ton  nom  pour  toi,  ta  fortune 
pour  les  autres,  et  tu  ne  seras  jamais  heureuse." 
She  had  two  children  by  Mr.  Trafford.  She  foresaw 
the  deaths  of  both  by  her  second-sight,  and  had  the 
agony  of  watching  the  fatal  hour  approaching  even 
when  they  were  well  and  strong. 


202  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LTFE  [1SG5 

During  the  Crimean  war.  Madame  de  Trafford 
wviit  out  to  Constantinople  with  some  Irish  Sisters  of 
Charity.  She  was  with  them  during  the  earthquake 
which  overwhelmed  Broussa.  At  the  moment  when 
the  Emperor  Nicholas  is  supposed  to  have  died,  she 
alarmed  those  who  were  with  her  by  starting  up 
and  in  her  fearful  voice  of  prophecy  exclaiming, 
"Nicholas!  arrete-toi !  tu  n'es  pas  niort :  tu  as 
disparu."  She  always  maintained  that  the  Emperor 
did  not  die  at  the  time  at  which  his  death  was 
announced  as  having  taken  place. 

One  day  Madame  de  Trafford  was  sitting  in  her 
room  at  Paris,  when  the  spirit  told  her  she  was  to  go 
—  not  where  she  was  to  go,  or  why,  but  simply  that 
she  was  to  set  off.  She  caught  up  her  bonnet  and 
shawl  and  bade  her  maid  Annette  (for  she  had  ser- 
vants then)  to  follow  her.  She  went  out :  she  walked  : 
she  walked  on  till  she  arrived  at  the  railway-station 
for  going  to  Lyons  (Chemin  de  Fer  de  Lyon).  She 
still  felt  she  was  to  go  on,  but  she  did  not  know 
whither,  so  she  said  to  the  guard  that  she  must  pay 
for  her  ticket  when  she  left  the  train,  for  she  coidd 
not  tell  where  she  should  get  out.  She  went  on  till 
the  railway  came  to  an  end,  and  the  railway  in  those 
days  came  to  an  end  at  Toulon.  Then  she  got  out 
and  went  to  a  hotel  and  ordered  rooms  for  herself 
and  her  maid  Annette,  and  dinner  —  for  they  were 
famished  after  the  long  journey.  But  still  she  felt 
restless :  she  was  still  convinced  that  she  was  not  in 
the  right  place. 

"  J'avais  arrets  un  appartement  pour  une  s'emaine,  mais 
une  voix  me  dit, '  Pars,'  et  je  savais  qu'D  v  avail  du  danger. 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  203 

Je  fis  appeler  la  maitresse  de  1'hGtel.  Je  lui  dis,  '  Je  vous 
payerai  tout  ce  que  vous  voulez,  mais  je  dois  partir. 
Faites  attendre  dix  minutes  la  malle-poste  pour  Marseille.' 
J'arrive  a  Marseille  fatigued.  Je  me  repose  sur  mi  lit. 
II  faisait  d£ja  miit.  J'appelais  ma  femme  de  chambre  et 
je  lui  dis,  '  Je  veux  sortir.'  Je  sors.  J'avance.  Je 
retourne.  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  qu'est-ce  que  c'est?  J'ai  peur: 
je  tremble :  je  ne  sais  pourquoi.  '  Annette,  suivez-moi,' 
je  dis.  J'avance  encore.  Je  monte  les  rues  dtroites  de 
Marseille.  J'arrete.  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  qu'est-ce  que  c'est 
que  je  vois  ■ —  une  rue  I  Je  ne  puis  plus  avancer,  mais 
qu'est-ce  que  c'est  cette  rue  ?  Je  tourne  :  je  monte  la  rue  en 
fre'missant.  '  Annette,  suivez-moi.'  J'arrete.  Je  vois  une 
maison  —  une  fenetre.  La  maison  est  fermde.  C'est  ici. 
Je  mesure  la  distance  de  cette  maison  a  la  maison  vis-a-vis. 
Une,  deux,  trois,  quatre.  La  police  me  suivait.  lis 
soup^onnaient  quelque  chose,  mais  je  disais, '  Qu'est-ce  que 
c'est  que  cela  —  une  maison,  une  fenetre?'  La  police 
entre  dans  la  maison,  dans  cette  fenetre  elle  y  trouva  une 
machine  infernale.  Napoleon  dtait  sauve:  il  devait  y 
passer  le  lendemain." 

From  her  extraordinary  powers  of  second-sight, 
supernatural  gifts  were  attributed  by  ignorant  per- 
sons, and  to  her  own  great  distress,  to  Madame  de 
Trafliord.  The  poor  around  her,  both  in  Touraine 
and  at  Paris,  often  implored  her  to  heal  their  sick, 
insisting  that  she  could  do  so  if  she  would,  for  she 
had  the  power. 

"  J'allais  a  la  Madeleine  un  dimanche  pour  la  messe. 
La  fille  de  mon  cocher  avait  e^e  bien  malade  depuis  long- 
temps.  Je  demandais  a  mon  cocher  en  descendant  a 
l'dglise  comment  se  portait  sa  fille.  'Elle  a  demande* 
Madame  de  Trafford,'  disait-il  en  pleurant,   'jusqu'a  son 


204  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [18G5 

dernier  moment.'  —  "Comment,  Florimond,'  lui  dis-je,  'que 
voulez-vous  dire?'  —  '  Kile  est  morte,'  disait-il  eD  sanglo- 
taut :  k  elle  est  morte  hier  a  minnit.'  —  k  Ah,'  disais-je,  et  je 
descendais  de  La  voiture.  '  Florimond,  pourquoi  ne  m'avez- 
voiis  pas  fait  appeler?'  J'entrais  a  l'e'glise,  mais  je  ne 
pouvais  rester  tranquille.  Je  sentais  que  je  ne  pouvais 
rester  pour  la  messe,  et  je  sortis.  Je  remonte  en  voiture. 
'Florimond,  au  grand  trot,'  lui  dis-je,  'chez  vous.' — 'Chez 
moi,  Madame/  dit-il;  'ah,  il  est  trop  tard;  ah,  si  vous 
dtiez  venue  plutot,  Madame,  mais  le  pauvre  enfant  a  ddja 
change*,'  et  le  pauvre  homme  pleurait ;  ah!  combien  il 
aimait  cet  enfant!  Nous  arrivons.  Je  descends  vite.  Je 
monte.  J'entre.  J'ouvre  la  porte.  Ddjh  on  avait  place* 
un  linceul  sur  le  corps  de  la  jeune  fille :  on  se  preparait  a 
l'ensevelir.  La  mere  et  la  ^arde-malade  dtaient  dans  la 
chambre.  Je  lis  sortir  la  garde.  J'approche  le  lit.  Je 
jette  par  terre  chapeau  et  mantelle.  Je  leve  le  linceul. 
Ah!  je  n'avais  jamais  vu  un  mort:  je  ne  puis  vous  dire 
l'effet  que  cela  me  fit.  Ddjadepuis  si  peu  d'heures !  II  y 
avait  treize  heures  qu'elle  e*tait  morte,  et  les  levres  etaient 
serrees:  tout  le  contour  de  la  bouche  e*tait  decolord.  Je 
m'approchais.  'Seigneur,'  dis-je,  kje  ne  vous  ai  rien 
demands  jusqiva  ce  jour:  je  vous  demande  aujonrd 'hui  la 
vie  de  cet  enfant.  Oh,  Seigneur,  c'est  la  fille  unique, 
rendez  done,  je  vous  en  supplie,  rendez  done  cette  lille  a 
sa  mere.'  Alors  une  voix  d'un  mauvais  esprit  me  dit,  '  Tu 
peux  rendre  la  vie:  tu  as  le  ponvoir.'  Mais  je  rdpondis, 
%  Moi,  je  ne  puis  rien,  je  ne  suis  rien;  mais,  Seigneur,  vous 
avez  le  pouvoir,  vous  seul  pouvez  tout;  rendez  done,  je 
vous  supplie,  rendez  done  cette  fille  a  sa  mere.'  Je  passais 
la  main  sur  la  figure  de  l'enfant:  je  le  prends  par  la  main. 
'Leve-toi,'  lui  dis-je,  et  la  jeune  fille  se  levait  en  sursaut! 
mais  ses  yeux  dtaient  encore  ferule's,  et  tout  doucement 
elle  dit  ees  paroles,  '  Madame  T  .  .  r  .  .  a  .  fford  .  . 
je  .  .  vais  .  .  dormir.'  Les  couleurs  revenaient  tout  dou- 
cement  dans  ses  joues.    Je  me  retournais  a  la  mere  :  '  A'otre 


18G5]  HOME   LIFE    WITH   THE   MOTHER  205 

fille  dormait,'  clis-je.  Je  quittai  la  maison.  Je  comman- 
dai  qu'on  lui  donnat  a  manger.  '  Florimond,'  dis-je  a 
mon  coclier,  'vous  pouvez  monter:  votre  fille  n'est  pas 
morte  —  elle  clort.'     Je  quittai  Paris  sur-le-champ."  1 

The  generosity  of  Madame  de  Trafforcl  knew  no 
bounds.  Once  she  went  to  Bourges.  She  arrived  at 
the  hotel  and  ordered  dinner.  The  waiter  said  din- 
ner could  not  be  ready  for  an  hour.  She  asked 
what  she  could  do  to  occupy  the  hour.  The  man 
suggested  that  she  could  visit  the  cathedral.  She 
said  she  had  often  seen  the  cathedral  of  Bourges : 
"what  else?"  The  man  suggested  the  convent 
of  Ursuline  nuns  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  she  was  much  interested  in  edu- 
cation, she  was  much  interested  in  Ursuline  nuns  — 
she  would  go  to  them. 

A  nun  showed  her  everything,  and  she  expressed 
herself  much  pleased ;  but  the  nun  looked  very  sad 
and  melancholy,  and  at  last  Madame  de  Trafford 
asked  her  what  made  her  look  so  miserable.  "  Oh," 
said  the  nun,  "  it  is  from  a  very  peculiar  circumstance, 
which  you,  as  a  stranger,  could  not  enter  into."  — 
"Never  mind,"  said  Madame  de  Trafford,  "tell  me 
what  it  is."  —  "Well,"  said  the  nun,  "since  you 
insist  upon  knowing,  many  convents  were  founded  in 
the  Middle  Ages  by  persons  who  had  very  peculiar 
ideas  about  the  end  of  the  world.  They  believed 
that  the  world  could  not  possibly  endure  beyond  a 
certain   number   of   years,    and  they   founded    their 

1  "  What  is  a  miracle?  Can  there  be  a  thing  more  miraculous  than 
any  other  thing?  ...  I  have  seen  no  man  rise  from  the  dead  :  I  have 
seen  some  thousands  rise  from  nothing.'"  — -  Carlyle. 


7 

i 


206  THE    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [18G5 

institutions  with  endowments  to  last  for  a  time 
which  they  believed  to  be  far  beyond  the  possible  age 
of  the  world.  Now  our  convent  was  founded  on 
that  principle,  and  the  time  till  which  our  convent 
was  founded  conies  to  an  end  to-morrow.  To-morrow 
there  are  no  Ursuline  nuns  of  Bourges  :  to-morrow 
we  have  no  convent  —  we  cease  to  exist."  —  "  Well," 
said  Madame  de  Trafford,  "but  is  there  no  other 
house  you  could  have,  where  you  could  be  re-estab- 
lished?"—  "Oh,  yes,"  said  the  nun,  "there  is  an- 
other house  to  be  had,  a  house  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  which  would  do  very  well  for  a  convent, 
but  to  establish  us  there  would  cost  £3000.  We  are 
under  vows  of  poverty,  we  have  no  money,  so  it  is 
on  use  thinking  about  it." — "Well,"  said  Madame 
de  Trafford,  "if  you  can  have  the  house,  it  is  a  very 
fortunate  circumstance  that  Mr.  Trafford  sent  me  a 
bill  for  <£3000  this  morning :  there  it  is.  You  can 
have  your  convent."  This  story  my  sister  had  from 
the  nuns  of  Bourses :  it  was  her  second-siidit  of  the 
trouble  overhanging  them  which  had  taken  Madame 
de  Trafford  to  Bourges. 

Amongst  the  most  extraordinary  of  the  dictations 
of  Madame  de  Trafford  are  those  which  state  that 
she  was  really  the  person  (accidentally  walking  and 
botanising  on  those  mountains)  who  appeared  out  of 
a  dense  fog  to  the  two  children  of  La  Salette,  and 
whom  they  took  for  a  vision  of  the  Virgin. 

People  who  have  heard  our  histories  of  Madame  de 
Trafford  have  often  asked  if  I  have  ever  seen  her 
myself.  I  never  did.  The  way  in  which  I  have 
been  brought  nearest  to  her  was  this.     One  day  I 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER  207 

had  gone  to  visit  Italima  and  Esmeralda  at  their 
little  lodging  in  Chester  Terrace,  in  the  most  terrible 
time  of  their  great  poverty.  I  was  standing  with 
my  sister  in  the  window,  when  she  said,  "  Oh,  how 
many  people  there  are  that  I  knew  in  the  world  who 
would  give  me  five  pounds  if  they  knew  what  it 
would  be  to  me  now.  Oh,  how  many  people  there 
are  that  would  do  that,  but  they  never  think  of  it." 
Esmeralda  thought  no  one  was  listening,  but  Italima, 
who  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 
who  was  then  in  the  depths  of  her  terrible  despair, 
caught  what  she  was  saying,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
Esmeralda,  that  is  all  over ;  no  one  will  ever  give 
you  five  pounds  again  as  long  as  you  live." 

Three  days  after  I  went  to  see  them  again.  While 
I  was  there,  the  postman's  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door,  and  an  odd-looking  envelope  was  brought  up, 
with  a  torn  piece  of  paper  inside  it,  such  as  Madame 
de  Trafford  wrote  upon.  On  it  were  these  words : 
"  As  I  was  sitting  in  my  window  in  Beaujour  this 
morning,  I  heard  your  voice,  and  your  voice  said, 
'  Oh,  how  many  people  there  are  that  I  knew  in  the 
world,  who  would  give  me  five  pounds  if  they  knew 
what  it  would  be  to  me  now !  Oh,  how  many  people 
there  are  that  would  do  that,  but  they  never  think  of 
it.'  So  I  just  slipped  this  five-pound  note  into  an 
envelope,  and  here  it  is."  And  in  the  envelope  was 
a  five-pound  note. 

"  J'etais  la ;  telle  chose  m'advint."  I  was  present 
on  both  these  occasions.  I  was  there  when  my  sister 
spoke  the  words,  and  I  was  there  when  the  letter 
came    from  Madame    de   Trafford  sending  the    five- 


208  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1SG5 

pound  note  and  repeating  not  only  my  sister's  words, 

lnit  the  peculiar  Eorm  of  reduplication  which  she  so 
constantly  used,  and  which  is  so  common  in  Italy 
when  it  is  desired  to  make  a  thing  emphatic. 

Esmeralda  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  summer 
at  Mrs.  Thorpe's,  where  I  frequently  visited  her. 
She  was  soon  deep  in  affairs  of  every  kind,  far  too 
much  for  her  feeble  frame,  as  she  added  incessant 
religions  work  to  her  necessary  legal  worries.  She 
would  go  anywhere  or  bear  anything  in  order  to 
bring  over  any  one  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church, 
and  was  extraordinarily  successful  in  winning  con- 
verts. Her  brother  William  had  already,  I  think, 
been  "  received,"  and  her  little  sister-in-law,  Mrs. 
William  Hare,  was  "  received ':  about  this  time. 
Esmeralda's  most  notable  success,  however,  had  been 
in  the  case  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.  G.  When  she  was 
living  in  Sloane  Street,  she  heard  accidentally  that 
Mrs.  G.  was  wavering  in  her  religious  opinions. 
Esmeralda  did  not  know  her,  but  she  drove  immedi- 
ately to  her  house  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
by  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  not  only  Mrs.  G.,  but 
her  husband,  had  been  received  into  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church. 

Still,  Esmeralda  never  believed  that  all  those  who 
were  without  the  pale  of  her  own  Church  would  be 
lust.  She  felt  certain  of  the  salvation  of  every  soul 
that  had  died  in  union  with  God  by  the  indwelling  of 
the  Holy  Ghost. 

Amongst  the  persons  whom  I  frequently  saw  when 
staying  with  my  sister  were  the  singular  figures,  in 
quaint  dress  with  silver  ornaments,  with  long  hair, 


1865]  HOME   LIFE   WITH   THE   MOTHER.  209 

and  ever  booted  and  spurred  as  cavaliers,  who  were 
known  as  the  Sobieski  Stuarts.  Their  real  names 
were  John  Hay  Allan  and  Charles  Stuart  Allan,  but 
my  sister  recognised  them  by  the  names  they  gave 
themselves  —  John  Sobieski  Stolberg  Stuart  and 
Charles  Edward  Stuart.  I  believe  that  they  had 
themselves  an  unfailing  belief  in  their  royal  blood. 
Their  father  was  said  to  be  the  son  of  Charles 
Edward  Stuart  and  Louise  of  Stolberg,  Countess  of 
Albany,  born  at  Leghorn  in  1773.  Fear  of  "the 
Kiner  of  Hanover  "  was  described  as  the  reason  for 
intrusting  him  as  a  baby  to  Admiral  Allan,  whose 
frigate  was  off  the  coast.  Allan  brought  up  the  boy 
as  his  own,  and  he  lived  to  marry  an  English  lady 
and  leave  the  two  sons  I  have  mentioned.  The  elder 
brother  died  in  1872,  and  the  younger  on  board  a 
steamer  off  Bordeaux  on  Christmas  Eve,  1880. 

Upon  her  return  to  England,  Esmeralda  found  in 
completion  the  beautiful  monument  which  she  had 
caused  to  be  erected  to  her  mother  in  the  Catholic 
Cemetery  at  Kensal  Green.  It  represents  "  Our 
Lady  of  Sorrows"  —  a  figure  of  life-size,  seated  under 
a  tall  marble  cross,  from  which  the  crown  of  thorns 
is  hanging. 

From  Esmeralda's  private  meditations  of  this  sum- 
mer I  extract : — 

"July  15,  1865.  Ask  for  the  gift  to  sorrow  only  for 
our  Blessed  Lord's  sake,  that  truly  we  may  share  the 
divine  sorrow  of  His  Blessed  Mother,  and  mingle  our  tears 
with  hers  on  Calvary  at  the  foot  of  the  cross." 

"August  20,  1865.  Ask  for  the  grace  of  filial  love. 
Strive  to  overcome  all  evil  inclinations  that  are  an  impedi- 

VOL.  II. —  14 


210  THE   STORY   OF    MY   LIFE  [1865 

iiH-nt  to  filial  Love,  amongst  which  one  of  the  chief  is  self- 
conceit.  Make  acts  of  reparation  for  all  the  self-conceit  of 
past  life.  When  thoughts  of  self-conceit  enter,  let  us  shut 
the  gates  of  our  hearts  against  them,  and  make  an  act  of 
profound  humility  and  sorrow,  seeing  our  own  nothingness 
and  baseness.  We  must  seek  for  filial  love  by  laying 
aside  all  confidence  in  self,  and  placing  all  our  confidence 
in  God  alone;  for  all  that  proceeds  from  ourselves  is  cor- 
rupt, and  our  best  actions  have  no  merit  unless  performed 
solely  for  God's  greater  glory,  without  regard  to  our- 
selves." 

"August  27,  1865.  Lay  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  all 
secret  doubts  of  God's  guidance.  It  is  this  secret  instincl 
which  is  one  of  the  great  hindrances  to  the  reign  of  -Jesus 
in  our  souls.  Let  us  make  an  act  of  the  will  —  'Lord.  1 
believe  that  Thou  lovest  to  make  the  souls  of  men  Thy 
tabernacle;  help  Thou  my  unbelief.  1  believe  that  Thou 
lovest  me,  in  spite  of  my  unworthiness  and  infidelity.  I 
am  blind  and  poor  and  naked;  I  have  nothing  of  myself  to 
offer  Thee  but  what  is  corrupt  and  evil,  but  Thou  hast 
given  me  by  inheritance  all  the  poverty  and  humility  of 
Thy  Blessed  Mother,  all  her  sorrows, —  and  these  I  offer 
Thee  —  Thy  gift  I  give  back  to  Thee.  O  my  Lord,  let 
me  learn  to  know  Thee  more  and  more." 


4 


' 


^Wrzsnsis  <J/^sfl£-  ^S  (^Xay^&y 


XII 
ENGLISH    PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS 

"The  holidays  of  joy  are  the  vigils  of  sorrow."  — Proverb. 

"  Dear  friend,  not  every  herb  puts  forth  a  flower ; 
Nor  every  flower  that  blossoms  fruit  doth  bear  ; 
Nor  hath  each  spoken  word  a  virtue  rare  ; 
Nor  every  stone  inearth  its  healing  power." 

—  Folgore  da  San  Gemignano. 

"  Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may, 
Old  Time  is  still  a-flying, 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day 
To-morrow  will  be  dying."  —  Herrick. 

We  were  for  some  time  at  the  Deanery  at  West- 
minster in  the  summer  of  1865.  I  think  it  was 
then  that  Archbishop  Manning's  consecration  took 
place.  I  heard  much  about  it,  though  I  was  not 
there.  Manning  looked  like  the  white  marble  statue 
of  a  saint,  especially  when  the  consecration  was  over 
and  he  moved  slowly  down  the  church,  giving  the 
benediction.  Newman  was  there  also,  and  looked 
even  more  statuesque  still.  Wonderful  was  the  self- 
controlling  power  which  both  these  priests  had. 
Many  years  before,  as  the  Stanleys  were  going  into 
St.  Margaret's,  there  was  a  scuffle,  and  a  huge  black 
cat  was  driven  out  of  the  church.  No  one  thought 
any  more  about  it,  and  nobody  saw  any  more  of  it, 
till,  just  as    Newman    was    coming    forward    within 


212  THE    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

the  altar-rail,  and  was  in  the  act  of  reading  the 
Communion  Service,  the  black  cat  sprang  from  one 
of  the  rafters  of  the  roof,  and  came  crashing  down 
upon  him,  falling  upon  the  hem  of  his  white  sur- 
plice. Newman's  face  never  changed  a  muscle,  and 
quietly,  reverently,  and  slowly  he  went  on  reading 
the  service  without  moving:  but  it  must  have  seemed 
like  a  demon.1 

During  this  visit  to  London  I  frequently  saw,  at 
the  house  of  Lady  Franklin  (widow  of  the  Arctic 
voyager)  the  gentle  and  pleasing  Queen  Dowager 
(Emma)  of  the  Sandwich  Islands.2  Her  complexion 
was  copper-coloured,  but  she  was  very  good-looking, 
and  simply  but  handsomely  attired  in  the  dress  of 
an  English  widow  lady.  She  had  greatly  looked  for- 
ward to  the  fogs  of  England,  having  been  used  to 
nothing  but  the  blue  or  copper-coloured  sky  of  the 
Pacific,  and  was  dreadfully  disappointed  when  she 
saw  the  resplendent  blue  sky  of  the  glorious  day  on 
which  she  arrived  at  Southampton.  "  Why,  T  might 
just  as  well  have  been  in  the  Sandwich  Islands.'' 
She  went  over  Westminster  Abbey  with  far  more 
knowledge  of  the  tombs  and  persons  they  commemo- 
rate than  I  have  seen  in  European  royalties  with 
whom  I  have  visited  the  Abbey  in  later  days.     In 

1  I  do  not  think  that  this  characteristic  anecdote  is  preserved  else- 
where. 

2  Emma,  widow  of  King  Kamehameha  IV.,  who  died  Nov.  30, 
1863.  She  was  born  Jan.  2,  1836,  being  daughter  of  George  Naca, 
a  native  chief,  and  of  Fanny  Yong.  Charles  Rooke,  a  rich  doctor, 
adopted  her,  and  left  her  all  his  fortune.  Having  seen  three  kings 
succeed  her  husband,  and  been  equally  honoured  and  respected  by  all, 
Queen  Emma  died  in  March.  1SS5. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     213 

stepping  back  to  allow  the  Queen  to  inspect  the 
Coronation  Chair,  my  mother  had  a  bad  fall  on  the 
pavement  of  Edward  the  Confessor's  Chapel,  and  the 
concern  and  amiability  she  showed  made  her  very 
attractive. 


THE    CORONATION    CHAIR,    WESTMINSTER.1 


Mr.  Evans,  of  St.  Andrew's,  Wells  Street,  preached 
in  Westminster  Abbey  at  the  evening  service  whilst 
we  were  at  the  Deanery.  He  preached  on  the  de- 
struction of  the  Temple,  applying  it  to  Westminster 
—  that  we  were  not  to  be  taken  in  by  "  the  grandeur 
of  the  building,  the  solemn  distances  of  the  choir,  the 

1  From   "  Walks  in  London." 


214  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

misty  shadows  of  the  roof,  the  windows  by  painters 
who  dipped  their  pencils  in  the  rainbow, "  &c.  He 
described  the  different  Jewish  temples  ;  the  first, 
rising  from  the  heart  of  David  and  the  hand  of  Solo- 
mon; the  second,  of  Zerubbabel;  the  third  built  by 
Herod,  and  "  certainly  he  was  no  saint." 

After  the  sermon  was  over  I  rushed  upstairs  and 
was  preaching  it  to  the  family  with  all  its  quaint- 
nesses,  when  1  saw  Mary  Stanley  making  most  un- 
accountable faces,  and  turning  round,  I  found  Mr. 
Evans  close  behind  me.  The  little  dark  figure  had 
hirpled  itself  into  the  room  and  was  listening  all 
the  time. 

Madame  Mold  (whom  I  have  described  at  Paris 
in  1858)  was  staying  at  the  Deanery,  where  Arthur 
and  Augusta  were  very  fond  of  her,  and  always 
called  her  "Molina."      She  was  most  amusing. 

"  When  I  was  leaving  Paris,  I  asked  my  friend  M. 
Bourdon  whether  I  could  take  anything  to  England  for 
him,  and  he  said  that  he  was  obliged  to  me,  and  that  if  I 
would  take  a  very  valuable  Indian  shawl,  he  would  avail 
himself  of  ray  offer.  However,  before  I  left  Paris,  my 
little  friend  Barbara  was  starting  for  England,  and  she 
said  to  me  that  part  of  her  box  was  empty,  and  that  she 
could  take  anything  I  wanted,  so  I  was  very  glad  to  give 
her  M.  Bourdon's  Indian  shawl.  Now  Barbara  was  in  that 
dreadful  accident  at  Staplehurst,  and  so  were  all  her  boxes, 
and  when  the  train  went  over,  the  boxes  went  down  into 
the  water,  and  all  the  things  were  spoilt.  At  fi ret  I  hoped  it 
was  not  so  bad,  but  '  the  fact  is  that  the  shawl  is  spoilt,' 
wrote  Barbara  to  me,  and  ever  since  that  M.  Bourdon  and 
I  have  been  en  froid,  which  I  am  veiy  sorry  for,  as  we  used 
to  be  such  good  friends." 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     215 

"  Oh,  that  will  soon  pass,"  I  said. 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  it  will  not"  said  Madame  Mohl,  "  for 
remember  we  are  enfroid,  not  merely  en  delicatesse.  Being 
en  delicatesse  is  easily  remedied.  '  Je  suis  en  delicatesse 
avec  mauian,'  said  a  young  lady  to  me.  ...  A  little  while 
ago  I  went  to  see  the  famous  author  Jules  Janin.  He  could 
not  attend  to  me.  He  was  sitting  at  a  table  covered  with 
papers  and  was  writing  notes.  Messengers  went  off  with 
the  notes,  and  almost  immediately  came  back  with  the 
answers,  which  were  evidently  written  a  very  short  distance 
off.  This  went  on  for  some  time,  till  at  last  Jules  Janin 
looked  up  and  said,  '  Je  vous  demande  mille  pardons  :  f  aites 
bien  d' excuses,  Madame :  c'est  que  je  suis  en  delicatesse 
avec  ma  femme.'  " 

One  day  Madame  Mohl  told  me  :  — 

"  There  was  a  handsome  young  woman  married  to  a  man 
who  was  in  her  own,  which  was  a  very  lowly  station  of  life, 
but  after  her  marriage  she  consented  to  go  a  journey  by  sea 
with  a  family  which  she  had  previously  lived  with.  On  the 
way  the  ship  was  wrecked,  and  she  was  one  of  the  few  per- 
sons saved.  It  was  a  desolate  coast,  and  one  of  the  officers 
who  was  saved  with  her  fell  in  love  with  her  —  she  was  a 
very  pretty  young  woman  —  and  married  her.  Eventually 
they  returned  to  England,  and  he  died,  leaving  her  a  very 
fine  place  and  a  large  fortune.  Some  years  after,  her 
favourite  maid  told  her  that  she  was  going  to  be  married, 
and,  being  attached  to  her  maid,  she  desired  her  to  bring 
her  betrothed  that  she  might  see  what  he  was  like.  When 
he  came  in,  she  recognised  her  own  first  husband.  He  did 
not  know  her  again,  but  going  upstairs,  she  put  on  an  old 
shawl,  and  coming  down  said,  '  Do  you  remember  that 
shawl  ?  '  —  '  Yes,'  he  said,  '  it  is  the  shawl  which  I  gave  to 
my  wife  on  our  wedding-day.'  Then  the  lady  revealed 
herself  and  took  her  husband  back  ;  but  he  was  a  low  man, 


216  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

and  led  her  an  awful  lite  and  drank  dreadfully;  but  on  the 
whole  that  was  a  good  thing  perhaps,  for  it  soon  brought 
on  delirium  tremens,  so  that  he  died  and  she  got  rid  of  him. 
4  What  a  fool  she  was  ever  to  let  him  know  who  she  was  ! ' 
was  what  I  felt  when  1  heard  the  story."' 

"  Well,  1  suppose  she  wanted  to  save  her  maid  from 
marrying  a  man  who  was  married  already,"  I  said;  "it 
would  have  been  very  wrong  if  she  had   not." 

••So  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  seemed  to  think,"  said 
Madame  Mold,  "for  he  was  there  when  the  story  was  told, 
and  he  was  very  much  shocked  and  very  grave,  and  he 
said,  'I  think,  Madame,  that  you  should  recollect  our  life 
is  only  a  railway,  and  that  it  does  not  signify  so  much  if 
we  are  comfortable  in  the  railway,  as  at  the  home  to  which 
we  are  going.'  But  I  told  him  I  would  rather  be  comput- 
able in  the  railway  as  well,  and  that  1  would  certainly  not 
have  been  such  a  fool  —  and  the  Bishop  of  Winchester 
thought  I   was  a  very  wicked  person." 

In  August  and  September  my  mother  was  very 
well,  and  had  a  succession  of  visitors,  so  that  I  was 
able  to  be  away  from  her. 

To  my  Mother. 

"  Hallingbury,  August  10, 1865.  The  Archer  Houblons' 
carriage  met  me  at  Bishop  Stortford.  This  is  a  great  red 
brick  house  in  a  large  park,  comfortable  inside,  but  per- 
fectly rilled  with  oggetti  —  too  many  things.  The  country 
round  is  dull,  except  'the  forest,'  Hatfield  Broadoake, 
which  is  a  grand  possession  for  a  private  family  —  eight 
miles  of  green  glades,  old  oaks,  gnarled  thorn-trees,  and  a 
small  lake." 

"  Mainsforth,  August  13.  I  went  to  Cambridge  on 
Friday,  and  saw  the  dear  Hurstmonceaux  Rectory  pic- 
tures, which  no  one  seemed  to  admire  as  we  did,  and  the 


1865]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN    TRIALS      217 

Hurstmouceaux  books  in  Trinity  College  Library,  where 
nobody  ever  reads  them.  I  dined  with  the  Public  Orator, 
and  the  next  day  went  to  Ely.  .  .  .  The  Cathedral  is 
beautif ully  situated,  a .  green  sloping  lawn  with  fine  trees 
on  one  side,  and  it  stands  in  a  group  of  picturesque  and 
venerable  buildings  —  Deanery,  Palace,  and  Grammar- 
school." 

" Bamborough  Castle,  August  19.  My  mother  will  be 
well  able  to  imagine  me  in  this  old  castle :  it  is  such  a 
pleasure  that  she  knows  it  all.  As  we  drove  up  the  hill, 
I  could  see  the  dear  old  Mrs.  Liddell  sitting  in  her  usual 
place  in  the  great  window  of  the  Court-room.  ...  I 
walked  till  dinner  with  Mr.  Liddell  on  those  delicious 
open  sands,  fitful  gleams  coming  on  with  the  sunset  over 
Holy  Island,  and  the  sea  covered  with  herring-boats.  Mr. 
Liddell  talked  of  his  youth.  '  The  old  Duchess  of  Gordon 
used  to  lead  the  ton  in  my  day  —  so  exclusive  it  was ! 
She  took  care  to  marry  all  her  daughters  well.  With 
regard  to  their  looks  she  said,  "  Give  me  eyes  and  I  will 
supply  the  rest."  Every  one  used  to  struggle  to  get  into 
Almack's.  When  Lady  Jersey  was  abroad,  she  heard  of 
some  "  little  people "  being  admitted,  and  set  off  home 
directly,  saying,  "  I  am  obliged  to  come  back  to  keep  you 
all  from  going  wrong."  Lady  Londonderry  and  Lady 
Jersey  were  rival  queens,  and  I  am  afraid  rejoiced  in  each 
other's  misfortunes  when  their  daughters  married  ill.' 

"  Yesterday  we  went  to  Holy  Island  —  Charlotte,  Mrs. 
George  Liddell,  Miss  Parke,  and  I  —  crossing  in  a  boat 
the  emerald  green  waves,  upon  which  great  seagulls  were 
floating  in  the  most  bewitching  manner.  We  had  lunch- 
eon in  St.  Cuthbert's  Abbey,  and  by  the  time  we  were 
ready  to  return,  the  sea  was  like  a  lake,  the  lights  most 
lovely  in  the  still  water,  and  the  great  castle  looming 
against  a  yellow  sky.  We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  even- 
ing since.     Mr.  Liddell  has  just  been  telling  me  of  an  old 


218 


THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE 


[1865 


man  at  Easington  who  said  that  the  Bible  was  like  a  round 
of  beef,  it  was  always  "coot  and  coom  again." 

"■Ford  Cottage,  August  22.  Lady  Waterford  had  sent  a 
kind  invitation  for  the  whole  party  at  Bamborough  to 
come  to  luncheon,  so  they  drove  with  me  here  —  sixteen 
miles.  As  we  came  down  upon  Ford  all  was  changed. 
The  gingerbread  castle  of  Udolpho  had  marched  back  three 
centuries,   and   is  now  a  grand   massive   building  in  the 


- 


BAMBOROUGH    CASTLE. 


Audley  End  style,  but  with  older  towers.  The  ugly 
village  had  moved  away  from  its  old  site  to  a  hillside  half  a 
mile  off,  and  picturesque  cottages  now  line  a  broad  avenue, 
in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  fountain  with  a  tall  pillar  sur- 
mounted by  an  angel.  Schools  for  boys  and  girls  have 
sprung  iij),  a  school  for  washing,  adult  schools,  a  grand 
bridge  of  three  tall  arches  over  the  dens;  it  is  quite 
magical. 

"  The  cottage  is  radiant  —  gorgeous  beds  of  flowers, 
smoothly  shaven  miniature  lawns,  and  large  majolica  vases, 
while  raised   stands  of  scarlet  geraniums  look  in  at  the 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN    TRIALS     219 

windows.  Dear  old  Lady  Stuart  received  us,  and  then 
Lady  Waterford  came  in.  I  felt  rather  shy  at  bringing 
such  an  immense  party,  but  I  believe  the  visit  was  really 
welcome  to  her,  and  all  the  guests  were  completely  fasci- 
nated by  her  beauty,  her  kindness,  and  her  goodness.  .  .  . 
The  castle  will  be  magnificent  inside.  The  ghost  room  is 
opened  and  a  secret  staircase  found  at  the  very  spot  from 
which  the  ghost  was  said  to  emerge.  The  Bamborough 
party  went  away  after  tea,  and  we  had  a  delightful  even- 
ing, Lady  Waterford  singing  and  talking  by  turns.  '  Here 
are  my  two  little  choristers,'  she  said,  showing  her  last 
picture.  'I  painted  them  against  the  grass  in  early  spring : 
it  has  all  the  effect  of  a  gold  ground.  They  like  coming  to 
me.  They  are  the  only  children,  who  have  come  to  me 
who  have  not  been  sick  :  after  the  first  hour,  all  the  others 
used  to  turn  perfectly  livid  and  say  "  I  'm  sick."  It  was 
something  in  the  room,  and  having  to  look  fixedly  at  one 
object.  Lady  Marion  Alford  says  it  was  just  the  same 
with  the  children  who  came  to  her.  ...  I  have  often  seen 
skies  like  this  in  my  drawing,  but  I  suppose  others  don't. 
I  asked  a  little  schoolgirl  that  came  to  me  if  she  had  ever 
seen  anything  like  it.  "  No,  never"  she  said.  ...  I  should 
like  my  fountain  drawn  either  with  a  black  cloud  behind 
the  angel  or  with  a  very  deep  blue  sky ;  I  have  seen  it 
both  ways.  .  .  .  That  is  a  sketch  of  a  French  town  we 
went  through,  where  the  arms  of  the  town  are  three  owls. 
We  asked  a  woman  what  it  meant,  and  she  said  it  was  on 
account  of  a  sermon.  Some  one  betted  the  priest  that  he 
would  not  bring  an  owl  into  his  sermon.  So  he  preached 
on  Dives  and  Lazarus,  and,  after  describing  the  end  of  the 
rich  man,  said  "  II  bout,  il  bout,  il  bout "  (He  boils,  boils, 
boils).  .  .  .  When  Ruskin  came  here,  he  said  I  would  never 
study  or  take  pains,  so  I  copied  a  print  from  Van  Eyck 
in  Indian-ink ;  it  took  me  several  months.  When  I  took 
Ruskin  into  my  school  he  only  said,  "  Well,  I  expected  you 
would  have  done  something  better  than  that." 


220 


THE    STORY    OF   MY    LIFE 


[1865 


M  But,  in  spite  of  Ruskin,  my  mother  would  be  perfectly 
enchanted  with  the  schools,  which  arc  glorious.  The 
upper  part  of  the  walls  is  entirely  covered  with  Large 
pictures,  like  frescoes,  by  Lady  Waterford,  of  the  'Lives 
of  Good  Children '  —  Cain  and  Abel,  Abraham  and  Isaac, 
Jacob  and  Ksau,  Joseph  and  his  Brethren.  &c,  all  being 
really  portraits  of  the  Ford  children,  so  that  little  Cain  and 
Abel  sit  underneath  their  own  picture,  &c.      The  whole 


THE    BDNDIAL   GABDEN,    FORD.1 


place  is  unique.  The  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  village 
is  worthy  of  Perugia,  with  its  tall  red  granite  pillar  and  angel 
figure  standing  out  against  the  sky.  All  the  cottages  have 
their  own  brilliant  gardens  of  flowers,  beautiful  walks  have 
been  made  to  wander  through  the  wooded  dene  below  the 
castle,  and  miles  of  drive  on  Plodden,  with  its  wooded 
hill  and  Marmion's  Well.  The  whole  country  is  wild  and 
poetical  —  deep  wooded  valleys,  rugged  open  heaths,  wind- 
blown   pine-woods,  and   pale    blue   distances   of   Cheviot 

1  From  "The  Story  of  Two  Xoble  Lives." 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     221 

Hill ;  and  Lady  Waterf ord  is  just  the  person  to  live  in  it, 
gleaning  up  and  making  the  most  of  every  effect,  eveiy 
legend,  every  ballad,  and  reproducing  them  with  her 
wonderful  pencil,  besides  which  her  large  income  enables 
her  to  restore  all  the  old  buildings  and  benefit  all  the 
old  people  who  have  the  good  fortune  to  be  within  her 
reach." 


-:  .^^^11 


ft 


THE    FOUNTAIN,    FORD.1 

"  Ford  Cottage,  August  24.  I  have  been  walking  in  the 
dene  to-day  with  Lady  Stuart.  She  narrates  very  comically 
the  effect  which  her  two  beautiful  daughters  produced 
when  they  came  out  into  the  world,  and  the  way  in  which 
she  saw  a  lady  at  a  ball  gaze  at  them,  and  then  at  her, 
and  heard  her  say,  ' How  beautiful  they  are,  and  isn't  it 
strange,  considering  ? '  Some  one  spoke  of  how  Blake,  the 
artist  used  to  go  into  a  summer-house  with  Mrs.  Blake, 
and  practise  for  the  Adam  and  Eve  of  his  pictures,  and 


1  From  "  The  Story  of  Two  Noble  Lives." 


1>U2  THE   STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1S65 

how  one  daj  some  visitors  came,  and  it  was  very  awkward. 
lIt  would  not  have  been  so  with  the  real  Adam  and  Eve,' 
said  Lady  Stuart, 'for  they  could  never  dread  any  drop- 
pers-in.'  In  her  anecdotes  of  old  times  and  people,  she  is 
quite  inexhaustible.     Here  an;  some  of  them:  — 

" '  Yes,  we  were  at  George  the  Fourth's  coronation ;  a 
great  many  other  ladies  and  I  went  with  Lady  Castlereagh 
—  she,  you  know,  was  tin-  minister's  wife  —  by  water  in 
one  of  the  great  state  barges.  We  embarked  at  Hunger- 
ford  Stairs,  and  we  got  out  at  a  place  called  Cotton  Garden, 
close  to  Westminster  Hall.  Lord  Willoughby  was  with  us. 
When  we  got  out,  we  were  looking  about  to  see  where 
all  the  ministers  lived,  &c,  when  somebody  came  up  and 
whispered  something  to  Lord  Willoughby.  He  exclaimed 
"  Good  God !  "  and  then,  apologising  for  leaving  us,  went 
off  in  a  hurry  looking  greatly  agitated.  Queen  Caroline 
was  at  that  moment  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  Abbey. 
She  had  got  Lady  Anne  Barnard,  who  was  with  her,  to 
get  her  a  peer's  ticket,  which  was  given  her,  but  it  was 
not  countersigned,  and  they  would  not  admit  her.  She 
was  in  despair.  She  stood  on  the  platform  and  wrung  her 
hands  in  a  perfect  agony.  At  last  Alderman  Wood,  who 
was  advising  her,  said,  "  Really  your  Majesty  had  better 
retire."  The  people  who  had  tickets  for  the  Abbey,  and 
who  were  to  go  in  by  that  door,  were  all  waiting  and 
pressing  for  entrance,  and  when  the  Queen  went  away, 
there  were  no  acclamations  for  her;  the  people  thought 
she  had  no  business  to  come  to  spoil  their  sport.1 

" '  She  had  been  married  twenty-five  years  to  the  King 
then.  They  offered  her  £  100,000  a  year  to  stay  quietly 
abroad,  but  she  would  come  back  at  once  and  assert  her 

1  Colonel  Alexander  Higginson  of  the  Grenadier  Guards,  cele- 
brated for  his  silence,  was  keeping  the  door.  He  said  not  a  word  in 
answer  to  all  her  entreaties,  but  dropped  his  sword  as  a  barrier  in 
front  of  the  Queen.  —Note  from  Mrs.  Owen  Grant,  niece  of  Colonel 
A .   Higginson. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     223 

rights  as  a  queen.  She  died  of  that  Coronation-day.  She 
went  home  and  was  very  ill.  Then  came  a  day  on  which 
she  was  to  go  to  one  of  the  theatres.  It  was  placarded  all 
about  that  she  was  to  appear,  and  her  friends  tried  to  get 
up  a  little  reaction  in  her  favour.  She  insisted  on  going, 
and  she  was  tolerably  well  received,  but  when  she  came 
home  she  was  worse,  and  she  died  two  days  after. 

" '  The  Duchesse  de  Berri l  thought  of  marrying  George 
IV.  after  her  Duke  was  dead.  People  began  to  talk  to 
her  about  marrying  again.  "  Oh  dear,  no,"  she  said,  "  I 
shall  never  marry  again.  At  least  there  is  only  one  per- 
son—  there  is  the  King  of  England.  How  funny  it 
would  be  to  have  two  sons,  one  the  King  of  France  and 
the  other  King  of  England  —  yes,  and  the  King  of  Eng- 
land the  cadet  of  the  two."  I  never  had  courage  to  tell 
George  IV.  what  she  said,  though  I  might  have  done  it. 
He  once  said  to  me,  when  his  going  to  France  was  talked 
of,  "  Oh  dear,  no,  I  don 't  want  to  see  them.  Poor  Louis 
XVIII.,  he  was  a  friend  of  mine,  but  then  he's  dead;  and 
as  for  Charles  X.,  I  don 't  want  to  see  him.  The  Dau- 
phine  !  yes,  I  pity  her ;  and  the  Duchesse  de  Berri,  she  's 
dreadful  ugly,  ain't  she?"  I  wish  I  had  said  to  him, 
"  Yes,  but  she  does  not  wish  your  Majesty  to  think  so." 

" '  I  went  down  one  day  to  St.  Cloud  to  see  the  Du- 
chesse de  Berri ;  she  had  been  pleased  to  express  a  wish  to 
see  me.  While  I  was  there,  her  son  rushed  in.2  "  Come 
now,"  she  said,  "  kiss  the  hand  of  Madame  FAmbassadrice. 
But  what  have  you  got  there  ?  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  je  vous 
apportais  mes  papillons,"  said  he,  showing  some  butterflies 
in  a  paper  case,  and  then,  with  an  air  of  pride,  "  C'est  une 
assez  belle  collection."  The  Duchesse  laughed  at  them, 
and  the  boy  looked  so  injured  and  hurt,  that  I  said,  "  But 
it  is  a  veiy  nice  collection  indeed."     Many  years  after- 

1  Caroline,  daughter  of  Francis  I.,  king  of  Naples,  widow  of  the 
Due  de  Berri,  younger  son  of  Charles  X. 

2  The  Due  de  Bordeaux  (Comte  de  Chanibord). 


224  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

wards,  only  three  years  ago,  Lou  and  I  were  at  Venice, 
and  we  went  to  dine  with  the  Chambords.  He  remem- 
bered  all  about  it,  and  Laughed,  and  said.  "Apres,  je 
regrettais  mes  papillons."  For  it  was  only  a  fortnighl 
.liter  I  saw  them  thai  the  Revolution  took  place,  and  the 
family  had  to  fly,  and  of  course  the  butterflies  in  their 
paper  case  were  left  behind  in  the  flight.  We  were  in  the 
Pyrenees  then,  and  indeed  when  the  Duchesse  sent  for 
me,  it  was  because  she  heard  I  was  going  there,  and  she 
wished  to  tell  me  about  the  places  she  had  been  to,  and  to 
ask  me  to  engage  her  donkey-woman. 

"'When  they  were  at  Venice,  the  Chambords  lived  in 
one  palace,  a  very  fine  one,  and  the  Duchesse  de  Berri  in 
another  farther  down  the  canal,  and  the  Duchess  of  Parma 
in  a  third.  1  did  not  see  the  Duchesse  de  Berri,  though  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  done  so.  She  was  married  then 
to  a  Marchese  Lucchesi,  by  whom  she  had  a  quantity  of 
grown-up  sons  and  daughters.  They  were  dreadfully 
extravagant — not  Lucchesi,  he  never  was,  but  she  was, 
and  her  sons-in-law.  The  Comte  de  Chambord  paid  her 
debts  over  and  over  again,  but  at  last  her  things  were 
obliged  to  be  sold. 

•• '  When  we  went  to  dine  with  the  Chambords,  we  were 
warned  that  we  must  not  allow  anything  to  pass,  or  we 
should  not  get  any  dinner.  We  went  at  half-past  four, 
and  the  soup  came,  and  the  Duke  (de  Bordeaux)  was  talk- 
ing to  me  at  that  time,  and,  while  I  was  listening,  the  soup 
was  carried  away,  and  so  it  was  with  nearly  everything 
else.  The  party  was  almost  entirely  composed  of  French 
exiles.  Lou  wrote  down  their  names  at  the  time,  but  T 
have  forgotten  them  now.  At  seven  our  q-ondola  was 
ordered,  and  it  came  too  late,  the  royalties  were  so  punc- 
tual. The  Duke  and  Duchess  got  up,  and  saying,  "I 
wish  you  a  pleasant  evening,"  went  out,  and  then  we  had 
nothing  for  it  but  to  go  away.  An  old  Venetian  gentle- 
man helped  us  out  of  the  scrape,  and  gave  us  a  lift  home 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     225 

in  his  gondola,  and  very  much-  aghast  our  gondoliers  were 
when  they  met  us  in  another  boat  upon  the  canal,  while 
they  were  rowing  with  all  their  might  to  fetch  us  away. 
The  royal  family  used  to  go  in  the  evening  to  an  island, 
which  the  Duke  had  bought  for  them  to  have  exercise 
upon. 

"  L  They  would  never  do  for  France ;  they  have  not  the 
manners.  She  is  ugly,1  and  then  she  dresses  so  badly  — 
no,  she  would  never  do.  The  only  one  who  would  do  out 
of  both  sets  is  Aumale :  he  is  really  a  fine  prince.  The 
Comte  de  Paris  would  of  course  naturally  come  first,  but 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  used  to  say,  '  I  will  never  be  a  king 
by  anything  but  popular  election,'  and  that  is  against  his 
family  succeeding.  All  the  members  of  the  family  look  up 
to  Aumale. 

" k  Did  you  ever  hear  about  the  old  Due  de  Coigny  and 
Ins  arm  ?  His  arm  was  shot  during  the  Moscow  campaign, 
and  when  it  was  amputated,  numbers  of  others  having 
their  limbs  taken  off  at  the  same  time,  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh 
mon  cher  bras,  qui  m'a  si  bien  servi,  je  ne  puis  jamais  me 
separer  de  ce  cher  bras,"  and  he  insisted  on  its  being  found 
for  him,  which  was  highly  inconvenient,  and  packed  it  up 
in  a  portmanteau,  which  he  carried  before  him  on  horse- 
back during  the  whole  of  the  return.  The  soldiers  quite 
hated  that  arm ;  however,  the  Duke  insisted  upon  it.  At 
last,  as  he  was  crossing  a  ford  in  a  carriage,  the  portman- 
teau rolled  off  his  knee  on  to  his  foot  and  hurt  it  exceed- 
ingly, upon  which  he  was  so  exasperated  that  in  a  fit  of 
lage  he  opened  the  carriage  door  and  kicked  it  out  into 
the  river.  When  he  got  to  his  night  quarters,  however, 
the  Duke  was  in  absolute  despair  — "  Oh  mon  pauvre 
bras !  mon  pauvre  cher  bras !  r  He  had  wished  it  to  be 
buried  with  him ;  for  was  it  not  his  most  faithful  servant  ? 
he  said.     However,  none  of  the  soldiers  were  inclined  to 

1  The  Archduchess  Marie  Therese,  daughter  of  Francis  IV.,  Duke 
of  Modena. 

VOL.  II.  — 15 


226  THE  STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1865 

go  and  lisli  it  up  for  him,  anU  since  then,  poor  man,  he  has 
had  to  be  buried  without  it. 

"4The  wife  of  this  Due  de  Coigny  was  Henrietta 
Dalrymple  Hamilton,  who  brought  him  large  estates. 
Her  parents  were  miserable  at  her  marrying  a  foreigner, 
from  the  idea  that  the  estates  would  certainly  then  go  out 
of  the  family:  but  of  all  his  children  only  two  daughters 
survive;  one  is  Lady  Manvers,  and  the  other  married 
Lord  Stair,  and  thus  brought  back  the  estates  to  the  elder 
branch  of  the  Dalrymples.  The  Due  died  last  year, 
chiefly  of  grief  for  the  death  of  another  daughter  who 
had  married  a  Frenchman.  His  sister  married  Marechal 
Sebastiani  and  had  five  daughters.  One  of  these  was  the 
murdered  Duchesse  de  Praslin. 

••  •  Madame  de  Praslin  was  one  of  a  society  that  there 
was  in  Paris  then,  who  used  to  laugh  at  anything  like 
spiritualism  or  warnings  from  another  world.  Madame 
de  Rabuteau  was  her  great  friend  and  partisan  in  these 
opinions.  One  day  Madame  de  Praslin  went  with  her 
husband  to  Choiseul  Praslin.  Her  room  was  magnificent, 
and  she  slept  in  a  great  velvet  bed.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night,  she  awoke  with  a  sense  of  something  moving  in  the 
room,  and,  lifting  herself  up  in  bed.  saw  by  the  expiring 
embers  of  the  fire,  a  figure,  and  as  it  turned,  she  saw,  as 
it  were,  something  green.  She  scarcely  knew  whether  she 
was  asleep  or  awake,  and,  to  convince  herself,  stretched 
out  her  band  and  encountered  something  cold,  hard,  and 
which  felt  like  steel.  Then,  widely  awake,  she  saw  the 
figure  recede  and  vanish  out  of  the  room.  She  felt  a 
thrill  of  horror  and  began  to  reason  with  herself.  "  Well," 
she  said,  k' 1  have  always  opposed  and  laughed  at  belief 
in  these  things,  and  now  one  of  them  has  come  to  me. 
Now  what  can  it  mean?  It  can  only  mean  that  I  am 
soon  to  die,  and  it  has  come  as  a  warning." 

kk  'Soon  after  Madame  de  Praslin  returned  to  Paris,  and 
at  the  house  of  Madame  de    Rabuteau   she  met  all   her 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     227 

former  intimates.  "  Oh,"  said  Madame  de  Rabuteau  as 
she  entered  the  room,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  to 
help  me  to  laugh  at  all  these  people,  who  are  holding  forth 
upon  revelations  from  another  world."  —  "  Indeed,  I  think 
we  had  better  talk  of  something  else,"  said  Madame  de 
Praslin;  "let  us  talk  of  something  else."  —  "Why,  my 
dear,  you  used  to  be  such  an  ardent  defender  of  mine," 
said  Madame  de  Rabuteau,  "  are  you  going  over  to  the 
other  side  ?  "  But  Madame  de  Praslin  resolutely  refused 
the  subject  and  "  parlons  d' autre  chose "  was  all  that 
could  be  extracted  from  her.  When  the  rest  of  the 
company  was  gone,  Madame  de  Rabuteau  said,  "  Well, 
now,  what  is  it  ?  what  can  have  come  over  you  this  even- 
ing ?  why  do  you  not  laugh  at  their  manifestations  ? "  — 
"  Simply  because  I  have  had  one  myself,"  replied  veiy 
gravely  Madame  de  Praslin,  and  she  told  what  had 
happened,  saying  that  she  believed  it  to  indicate  her 
approaching  death.  Madame  de  Rabuteau  tried  to  argue 
her  out  of  the  impression,  but  in  vain.  Madame  de 
Praslin  went  home,  and  a  few  days  after  she  was  mur- 
dered in  the  Hotel  Sebastiani. 

"  '  When  the  Duke  was  taken,  search  was  made,  and 
amongst  his  things  were  found  a  green  mask  and  a  dagger. 
He  had  evidently  intended  to  murder  the  Duchess  at 
Choiseul  Praslin,  and  it  had  been  no  spirit  that  she 
saw. 

" k  Madame  de  Feucheres  was  originally  a  Miss  Sophia 
Dawes,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Dawes,  who  was  a  shipbuilder 
at  Ryde  and  a  very  respectable  man.  The  Due  de  Bour- 
bon 1  saw  her  somewhere  and  took  a  great  fancy  to  her, 
and,  to  facilitate  an  intimacy  with  her,  he  married  her  to 
his  aide-de-camp,  the  Baron  de  Feucheres.  But  M.  de 
Feucheres  was  a  very  honourable  man.      When  the  mar- 

1  Louis  Henri  Joseph,  Due  de  Bourbon,  father  of  the  Due  d'Enghien 
the  last  member  of  the  House  of  Conde,  who  fought  a  duel  with 
Charles  X.  in  1776.     He  married  Marie  Therese  d'Orleans  in  1770. 


228  THE  STORY  OF  MY  LIFE  [1865 

riage  was  proposed  to  him,  the  Duke  paying  the  dowry,  he 
took  her  lor  a  daughter  of  the  Duke,  and  when  he  found 
out  the  real  state  of  things,  he  separated  from  her  at  once, 
Lea's  ing  all  her  fortune  in  her  hands.  Jt  was  supposed  that 
Madame  de  Feucheres  was  in  the  Orleans  interest,  and 
that  therefore  the  Duke  would  leave  everything-  to  the 
Due  d'Aumale.  I  must  say  for  the  Duchesse  de  Bern 
that  she  was  exceedingly  good-natured  about  that.  When 
there  was  a  question  about  the  Feucheres  heing  received 
at  the  palace,  she  advocated  it.  for  the  sake  of  mn  /mite,1 
and  Madame  de  Feucheres  came.  But  when  the  Revolu- 
tion took  place  and  Charles  X.  fled,  the  feelings  of  the 
Due  de  Bourbon  were  changed;  all  his  loyalty  was  roused, 
and  he  said  that  he  must  follow  son  roi.  Nothing  that 
Madame  de  Feucheres  could  say  could  change  this  resolu- 
tion. They  said  that  he  hanged  himself  (August  -~, 
1830),  immediately  after  hearing  of  the  escape,  but  few 
believed  it ;  most  thought  that  Madame  de  Feucheres  had 
done  it  —  unjustly,  perhaps,  because,  on  arriving  at  an  inn 
where  they  were  to  sleep,  the  Duke  observed  that  the  land- 
lord looked  very  dispirited,  and  knowing  the  cause,  said, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  have  had  some  sad  trouble  in  your  family 
besides  all  these  terrible  public  events."  —  "Yes,  Mon- 
seigneur,"  said  the  man,  "my  brother  hanged  himself  yes- 
terday morning,"  —  "And  how  did  he  do  that?"  said  the 
Duke.  "Oh.  Monseigneur.  he  hanged  himself  from  the 
bolt  of  the  shutter." — "  No,  that  is  impossible,"  said  the 
Duke,  "for  the  man  was  too  tall."  Then  the  landlord 
exactly  described  the  process  by  which  his  brother  had 
effected  his  purpose,  raising  himself  upon  his  knees, 
&c,  and  it  was  precisely  in  that  way  that  the  body  of 
the  Duke  was  found   in    the  chateau  of    St.  Leu.      Still 


1  Marie  Amelie,  Duchesse  d'Orleans,  afterwards  Queen  of  the 
French,  was  daughter  of  Ferdinand  I.,  king  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  and 
sister  of  Francis  I.,  father  of  the  Duchesse  de  Berri. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     229 

most  people  thought  that  Madame  de  Feucheres  had 
murdered  him  in  his  bed,  and  then  hung  up  his  body  to 
avoid  suspicion.1 

*' ;  It  was  said  that  the  Duke  could  not  have  hanged 
himself,  because  he  had  hurt  his  hand  and  could  not  use 
it,  and  so  could  not  have  tied  himself  up,  but  Lord  Stuart 
always  said  that  he  was  very  thankful  that  his  evidence 
was  not  called  for,  because  he  had  met  the  Duke  at  a 
dinner-party  a  little  while  before,  when  he  showed  that  he 
could  use  his  hand  by  carving  a  large  turkey  beautifully. 
That  dinner-party  was  at  St.  Leu.  Madame  Adelaide  had 
wanted  to  buy  St.  Leu,  but  the  Duke  said,  "  No ;  yet  never 
mind ;  some  day  it  will  come  into  your  family  all  the 
same."  The  Duke  sat  by  Madame  Adelaide  at  dinner  and 
carved  the  turkey.  "  Pray  do  not  attempt  it,  Monsei- 
gneur,"  she  said,  "  for  it  will  be  too  much  for  you,"  but  he 
was  able  to  do  it  very  well. 

" '  In  consequence  of  the  Duke  dying  when  he  did,  the 
Due  d'Aumale  got  the  Conde'  property.  Madame  de 
Feucheres  came  to  England,  and  her  brother,  Mr.  Dawes, 
took  a  place  for  her  near  Highcliffe.  I  never  called  on 
her,  but  Lord  Stuart  did.  I  remember  Bemister,  a  car- 
penter, being  sent  for  by  her,  and  coming  to  me  afterwards. 
He  told  me,  "  I  felt  very  queer  when  she  told  me  to  hang 
up  a  picture  of  the  Duke  on  the  wall  of  her  room,  and 
before  I  thought  what  I  was  about  I  said,  '  And  where  will 
you  hang  he  ? "  '  —  "  And  what  in  the  world  did  she 
answer?"  I  asked.  "Well,"  he  said,  "I  was  looking 
very  foolish,  and  she  said,  '  Why,  you  don't  think  I  really 
did  it,  do  you?'"  —  "And  what  did  you  really  think, 
Bemister?"  I  said.  "Why,  I  don't  think  she  did  it," 
answered  Bemister,  "  but  I  think  she  worrited  of  him  into 

1  The  Due  de  Bourbon  left  Madame  de  Feucheres  two  million 
francs,  the  chateau  and  park  of  St.  Leu,  the  chateau  and  estate  of 
Boissy,  and  all  their  dependencies :  also  a  pavilion  at  the  Palais  Bour- 
bon, valued  at  fifteen  million  francs. 


230  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [18G5 

doing  it  himself,"  and  I  suspect   this  was  pretty  near  the 
truth.' 

«  I  sleep  at  the  castle,  and  at  10  a.  m.  go  down  to  the 
cottage,  which  looks  radiant  in  its  bowers  of  flowers  and 
shrubs,  with  a  Little  burn  tossing  in  front.  Lady  water- 
ford  reads  the  lessons  and  prayers  to  the  household  (hav- 
ing already  been  to  church  herself).  Then  comes  breakfast 
in  the  miniature  dining-room  opening  into  the  miniature 
Harden,  during  which  she  talks  ceaselessly  in  her  wonder- 
fully poetical  way.  Then  1  sit  a  little  with  Lady  Stuart 
—  then  draw,  while  Lady  Waterford  has  her  choristers  and 
other  boy  models  to  sit  to  her.  At  two  is  luncheon,  then 
we  go  out,  Lady  Stuart  in  a  donkey-chair.  Yesterday 
we  went  all  over  Flodden  ;  to-day  we  are  going  to  Yet- 
holm,  the  gipsy  capital.  At  half-past  seven  we  dine,  then 
Lady  Waterford  paints,  while  I  tell  them  stories,  or  any- 
thing, for  they  like  to  hear  everything,  and  then  Lady 
Waterford  sings,  and  tells  me  charming  things  in  return. 
Here  are  some  snatches  from  her:  — 

"'I  wish  you  had  seen  Grandmama  Hardwicke.1  She 
was  such  a  beautiful  old  lady  —  very  little,  and  with  the 
loveliest  skin,  and  eyes,  and  hair;  and  she  had  such  beau- 
tiful manners,  so  graceful  and  so  gracious.  Grrandmama 
lived  till  she  was  ninety-live.  She  died  in  '58.  1  have 
two  oak-trees  in  the  upper  part  of  the  pleasaunce  which 
were  planted  by  her.  When  she  was  in  her  great  age,  all 
her  grandchildren  thought  they  would  like  to  have  oak- 
trees  planted  by  her,  and  so  a  row  of  pots  was  placed  in 
the  window-sill,  and  her  chair  was  wheeled  up  to  it,  to 
make  it  as  little  fatigue  as  possible,  and  she  dropped  an 
acorn  into  each  of  the  pots.  Her  old  maid,  Maydwell, 
who  perfectly  doted  upon  her,  and  was  always  afraid  of 
her  over-doing  herself,  stood  by  with  a  glass  of  port  wine 
and  a  biscuit,  and  when  she  had  finished  her  work,  she 

1  Elizabeth,  Wife  of  Philip  Yorke,  3rd   Earl  of   Hardwicke,  and 
daughter  of  James,  5th  Earl  of  Balcarres. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     231 

took  the  wine,  and  passing  it  before  the  pots,  said,  "  Suc- 
cess to  the  oak-trees,"  and  drank  it.  I  am  always  so  sorry 
that  Ludovic  Lindsay  (Lord  Lindsay's  eldest  boy)  should 
not  have  seen  her.  Lord  Lindsay  wished  it :  he  wished  to 
have  carried  on  further  the  recollection  of  a  person  whose 
grandfather's  wife  was  given  away  by  Charles  the  Second ; 
but  it  was  Maydwell  who  prevented  it,  I  believe,  because 
she  was  too  proud  of  her  mistress,  and  did  not  think  her 
looking  quite  so  well  then  as  she  had  looked  some  years 
before.  The  fact  was,  I  think,  that  some  of  the  little 
Stuarts  had  been  taken  to  see  her,  and  as  they  were  going 
out  they  had  been  heard  to  say,  "  How  awfully  old  she 
looks ! " 

" '  Her  father,  Lord  Balcarres,  was  what  they  call  "  out 
in  the  '45,"  and  his  man  was  called  on  to  swear  that  he 
had  not  been  present  at  a  time  when  he  was.  The  man 
swore  it  and  Lord  Balcarres  got  off.  When  they  were 
going  away  safe  he  said  to  his  man,  "  Well  now,  how  could 
you  swear  such  a  lie  !  "  —  "  Because  I  had  rather  trust  my 
sowle  to  God,"  said  the  man,  "  than  your  body  to  deevils." 
The  first  wife  of  Lord  Balcarres's  father  x  was  Mauritia  of 
Nassau,  who  was  given  away  by  Charles  II.  When  they 
came  to  the  altar,  the  bridegroom  found  that  he  had 
totally  forgotten  the  ring.  In  a  great  fright  he  asked  if 
one  of  the  bystanders  could  lend  him  a  ring,  and  a  friend 
gave  him  one.  He  did  not  find  out  then  that  it  bore  the 
device  of  a  death's-head  and  cross-bones,  but  Mauritia  of 
Nassau  found  it  out  afterwards :  she  considered  it  a  pro- 
phecy of  evil,  and  she  died  within  the  year. 

"  '  When  he  was  almost  an  old  man,  Lord  Balcarres 
went  to  stay  with  old  Lady  Keith.  There  were  a  quantity 
of  young  ladies  in  the  house,  and  before  he  came  Lad}^ 
Keith  said,  "  Now  there  is  this  old  gentleman  coming  to 
stay,  and  I  particularly  wish  that  you  should  all  endeavour 
to  make  yourselves  as  pleasant  to  him  as  you  can."  They 
1  Colin,  3rd  Etui  of  Balcarres. 


232  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

all  agreed,  but  a  .Miss  Dalrymple *  said,  "  Well,  you  may 
all  do  what  you  like,  l>ut  I  '11  bet  you  anything  you  please 
that  I  '11  make  him  like  me  the  best  of  all  of  us."  and  so 
she  did;  she  made  him  exclusively  devoted  to  her  all  the 
while  he  was  there;  but  she  never  thought  of  anything 
more  than  this,  and  when  he  asked  her  to  marry  him,  she 
Laughed  at  the  very  idea.  He  was  exceedingly  crestfallen, 
but  when  he  went  away  he  made  a  will  settling  everything 
he  possessed  upon  this  Miss  Dalrymple.  Somehow  she 
heard  of  this,  and  said,  "  Well  then,  after  all,  he  must 
really  care  for  me,  and  I  will  marry  him,"  and  she  did. 
He  was  fifty-eight  then,  but  they  had  eleven  children. 
When  Lady  Balcarres  was  an  old  woman,  she  was  exces- 
sively severe,  indeed  she  became  so  soon  after  her  marriage. 
One  day  some  one  coming  along  the  road  towards  her 
house  met  a  perfect  procession  of  children  of  all  ages,  from 
three  upwards,  walking  one  behind  the  other,  and  the 
eldest  boy,  who  came  first,  gipsy  fashion  carrying  the  baby 
on  his  back.  They  were  the  eleven  children  of  Lady 
Balcarres  making  their  escape  from  their  mother,  with  the 
intention  of  going  out  to  seek  their  own  fortunes  in  the 
world.  It  was  one  of  the  family  of  this  Lady  Balcarres 
who  was  the  original  of  Lucy  Ashton  in  the  ik  Bride  of 
Lammermoor."  The  story  is  all  true.  The  Master  of 
Kavenswood  was  Lord  Rutherford.  She  rode  to  church 
on  a  pillion  behind  her  brother  that  he  might  not  feel  how 
her  heart  was  beating. 

"••In  consequence  of  Grandmama  Ilardwicke's  great 
age,  people  used  to  be  astonished  at  my  aunt  Lady  Mcx- 
borough,  when  nearly  eighty,  running  upstairs  and  calling 
out  "Mama."  When  my  aunt  Lady  Somers  was  at  Bath, 
she  sent  for  a  doctor,  and  he  said  to  her,  "Well,  my  lady, 
at  your  age,  you  cannot  expect  to  be  ever  much  better.'"  — 
"  At  my  age!"  she  said,  "  why,  my  mother  only  died  last 
year."     The  doctor  was  perfectly  petrified  with  amazement. 

1  Anne,  only  daughter  of  Sir  Robert  Dalrymple  of  Castleton. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     233 

"It  is  the  most  wonderful  thing,"  he  said,  "that  I  ever 
heard  in  my  life."  My  grandmother's  sisters  were  very 
remarkable  women ;  one  was  Lady  Margaret  Lindsay,  the 
other  was  Lady  Anne  Barnard.  Lady  Anne  was  the  real 
authoress  of  "  Auld  Robin  Gray."  She  loved  the  tune,1 
but  the  original  words  were  bad  and  unfit  for  a  lady  to 


FORD   CASTLE,    THE    TERRACE.2 


sing,  so  she  wrote,  "  Auld  Robin  Gray,"  though  some  one 
else  has  always  had  the  credit  of  it.' 

"We  have  been  walking   this    afternoon   through   the 

1  The  tune  which  then  existed.  The  Hon.  Mrs.  Byron,  a  friend 
of  Lady  Anne  Barnard,  afterwards  gave  the  words  to  Lieutenant 
William  Leeves,  1st  Foot  Guards,  who  composed  the  air  to  which  they 
are  now  sung,  in  imitation  of  old  Scotch  music.  Lieutenant  Leeves 
afterwards  took  orders  and  became  Rector  of  Wrington  in  Somerset- 
shire, where  he  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  who 
lived  in  his  parish.     He  died  in  1828. 

2  From  "The  Story  of  Two  Noble  Lives." 


234  THE   MOKV    OF   MY   LIFE  [1805 

cornfields  towards  Etal.  Lady  Waterford  recalled  how 
Lady  Marion  Alford  had  shown  her  thai  all  the  sheaves 
Leaning  towards  one  another  were  like  hands  praying. 
To-night  .Mr.  Williams  dined  at  the  cottage.  Asking  Lady 
Waterford  about  him  afterwards,  she  said:  — 

"  •  I  do  not  know  it'  Mr.  Williams  is  old  or  .young.  I 
think  he  is  like  the  French  lady  of  whom  it  was  said, 
"  Kile  n'avait  pas  encore  perdu  L'ancienne  habitude  d'§tre 
jeune."  Apropos  of  this,  Lady  (iiil'ord  made  such  a  pretty 
speech  once.  A  little  girl  asked  her,  "  Do  tell  me,  are  you 
old  or  young?  I  never  can  make  out,"  and  she  said,  "  My 
dear,  I  have  been  a  very  long  time  young." 

" '  The  story  of  Mr.  Williams  is  quite  a  pretty  one. 
When  Lord  Frederick  FitzClarence  was  in  India,  there 
was  a  great  scandal  in  his  government,  and  two  of  his 
aides-de-camp  had  to  be  sent  away.  He  wrote  to  his 
brother-in-law  to  send  him  out  another  in  a  hurry,  and  he 
sent  Mr.  Williams.  When  he  arrived,  Lord  Frederick 
was  very  ill,  and  soon  after  he  died.  After  his  death,  Mr. 
Williams  had  the  task  of  bringing  Lady  Frederick  and  her 
daughter  home.  Miss  FitzClarence  was  then  very  much 
out  of  health,  and  he  used  to  carry  her  up  on  deck,  and 
they  were  thrown  very  much  together.  I  believe  the  maids 
warned  Lady  Frederick  that  something  might  come  of  it, 
but  she  did  not  see  it.  Before  the  end  of  the  voyage,  Mr. 
Williams  and  Miss  FitzClarence  had  determined  to  be 
married,  but  she  decided  not  to  tell  her  mother  as  yet. 
When  the  ship  arrived  at  Portsmouth,  the  coffin  of  Lord 
Frederick  had  to  remain  all  night  on  the  deck,  and  Air.  Wil- 
liams never  left  it,  but  walked  up  and  down  the  whole  time 
watching  it,  which  touched  Lady  Frederick  very  much. 
Still,  when  her  daughter  told  her  she  was  going  to  marry 
him,  she  was  quite  furious,  contrary  to  her  usual  disposi- 
tion, which  is  an  exceedingly  mild  one,  and  she  would  not 
hear  of  it,  and  sent  him  away  at  once. 

•••It   was   the   time   of  the    war,  and  Captain  Williams 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     235 

went  off  to  the  Crimea,  but  Miss  FitzClarence  grew  worse 
and  worse,  and  at  last  the  difference  between  them  made 
her  so  uncomfortable  with  her  mother,  that  she  went  off  to 
her  grandmother ;  but  while  there  she  continued  to  get 
worse,  and  at  last  it  was  evidently  a  case  of  dying,  and 
when  her  mother  went  to  her,  she  was  so  alarmed  that  she 
begged  she  would  marry  any  one  she  liked ;  she  would 
consent  to  whatever  she  wished,  and  would  send  for  Cap- 
tain Williams  at  once.  So  Williams  threw  up  everything, 
though  it  was  considered  a  disgrace  in  time  of  war,  and 
came  home,  but  when  he  arrived,  poor  Miss  FitzClarence 
was  dead. 

"  '  Then  Lady  Frederick  felt  that  she  could  not  do  enough 
for  him,  and  she  took  him  to  live  with  her  as  her  son.  The 
relations,  however,  were  all  very  angry,  and  the  mauvaises 
langues  said  that  she  meant  to  marry  him  herself.  So  then 
she  thought  it  would  not  do,  and  she  got  him  an  agency  on 
Lord  Fife's  property  and  sent  him  to  live  alone.  How- 
ever, after  a  time,  the  agency  somehow  was  given  up,  and 
he  came  back,  and  he  always  lives  now  with  Lady  Frederick. 
At  Etal  they  always  sit  in  church  gazing  into  the  open 
grave,  which  Lady  Frederick  will  never  have  closed,  in 
which  his  love  is  to  be  buried  when  she  (the  mother)  dies, 
and  is  laid  there  also,  and  at  Ford  he  sits  by  his  love's  dead 
head. 

"'I  think  Captain  Williams  must  be  no  longer  young, 
because  he  is  so  very  careful  about  his  dress,  and  that  is 
always  a  sign  of  a  man's  growing  old,  is  n't  it  ?  ' 

"  The  neighbours  at  Ford  most  of  them  seem  to  have 
'  stories '  and  are  a  perpetual  source  of  interest.  Lady 
Waterford  says  :  — 

"  w  Grindon  is  a  fine  old  manor-house  near  Tillmouth. 
Mr.  Friar  lives  there.  One  morning  he  was  a  carpenter 
working  down  a  coal-pit,  and  in  the  evening  lie  was  the 
master  of  Grindon  :  I  believe  an  uncle  left  it  him. 

"  'Then  there  was  that  Sir  F.  Blake  whose  wife  was  a 


236  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

IVrsian  princess,  who  afterwards  left  a  fine  diamond  neck- 
Lace  and  two  most  magnificent  Persian  vases  to  the  family. 

I  was  so  sorry  when  those  vases  were  sold  for  <£ 40 :  they 
were  worth  many  hundreds. 

•••Near  Howtell  is  Thorpington,  a  farm  of  the  Hunts. 
Sir  J.  Hunt  was  attainted  for  fighting  in  the  Jacobite  cause, 
and  his  property  was  all  confiscated.  His  son  was  so  re- 
duced that  he  was  obliged  to  become  a  groom,  but  he  so 
gained  the  regard  of  his  master,  that,  when  he  died,  he  left 
him  all  his  horses.  From  that  time  the  Hunts  have  taken 
to  selling  horses  and  their  breed  has  become  famous.  They 
never  sell  a  horse,  however,  under  <£20<):  if  they  do  not 
get  that  sum,  they  either  shoot  them  or  give  them  away.'  " 

"  Chillingham  ('< idle,  August  27,  1865.  On  Thursday 
afternoon  I  drove  with  Lady  Waterford  and  Lady  Stuart 
to  Yetholm,  twelve  miles  from  Ford.  The  way  wound 
through  wild  desolate  valleys  of  the  Cheviots,  and  the  vil- 
lage itself  is  a  miserable  place.  I  drew  the  palace  of  the 
gipsy  queen  —  a  wretched  thatched  hovel  with  a  mud  floor, 
hut  royalty  was  absent  on  a  tinkering  expedition. 

k-()n  Friday  I  went  in  the  pony-carriage  to  Etal.  There 
I  was  shown  into  a  room  hung  with  relics  of  Lord  Frederick 
FitzClarence  and  miniatures  of  George  IV.  and  the  royal 
family.  Very  soon  Lady  Frederick1  came  in — a  figure 
like  a  nun,  one  straight  fall  of  crape,  without  crinoline, 
enveloping  her  thin  figure,  and  her  hair  all  pushed  back 
into  a  tight  round  white  muslin  cap,  and  coal-scuttle  bon- 
net. She  scarcely  ever  sees  any  one,  so  it  was  an  effort  to 
her  to  receive  me,  but  she  was  not  so  odd  as  I  expected. 
She  talked  about  the  place  and  then  about  wasps,  and  said 
that  if  Captain  Williams  was  stung  by  a  wasp,  it  had  such 
an  effect  upon  him  that  he  swelled  up  all  over  and  fell 
down  perfectly  senseless  upon  the  ground  that  instant.  In 
the  hall   was  the  dinner  service  of  Nelson   (painted  with 

1  Augusta,  daughter  of  George,  4th  Earl  of  Glasgow. 


OA^aJs^C,  ^Ladu  ^Mtuw/5  a£y  J/l&m&*tzy- 


<^l0?7Zs  a,  '7mtMt.a£t&e/ s&u-  ^/VZtSJ  ^Zleeams 


1865]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     237 

figures  of  Lady  Hamilton  as  Amphytrite),  which  was  given 
to  Lord  Frederick  by  William  IV.  Captain  Williams  went 
with  me  to  the  ruined  castle  of  Etal  and  then  along  a 
walk  above  the  Till,  which  was  very  beautiful,  with  weird 
old  willows,  high  rocks,  and  lovely  reaches  of  wood  and 
water. 

"  Yesterday  morning  I  made  a  sketch  of  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  with  all  its  flowers,  &c,  which  I  gave  to  Lady 
Stuart,  much  to  her  pleasure.  She  told  me  about  Lord 
Waterford's  death.  On  that  morning,  as  always,  Lady 
Waterford  read  to  him  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  whilst  he  was 
dressing,  and  for  that  day  it  was  the  lament  for  Absalom. 
It  contained  the  verse  in  which  a  pillar  is  raised  up  to  him 
for  '  he  had  no  son  to  keep  his  name  in  remembrance  ; '  so 
his  widow  determined  to  raise  a  pillar  to  his  memory,  and 
has  done  so  in  the  beautiful  angel-fountain  at  Ford. 

"  In  the  middle  of  luncheon  Lady  Tankerville  drove  up, 
came  to  fetch  me,  and  bringing  Lady  Bagot l  and  Lady 
Blanche  Egerton2  to  see  the  castle.  So  at  five  I  came 
away  with  them,  and  took  leave  of  the  cottage  and  its  de- 
lightful inmates.  ...  It  was  a  cold  dreary  day,  and  gusts 
of  wind  and  rain  blew  from  the  Cheviots  during  our  four- 
teen miles.     Lady  Tankerville  drove." 

"  Chillingham,  August  29.  Yesterday  we  all  drove 
through  pouring  rain  to  Hulne  Abbey  in  Alnwick  Park, 
where  we  were  edad  of  the  shelter  of  the  one  unruined 
tower  for  our  luncheon.  Afterwards  we  drove  through  the 
park  to  the  castle,  which  I  had  not  seen  since  the  reign 
of  Alo-emon  the  Great  and  Eleanor  the  Good.  Now  we 
were  the  guests  of  Lady  Percy,  a  kind  pleasant  person, 
and  Lady  Louisa.  The  rooms  are  grandly  uncomfortable 
(except  the  library,  which  is  an  attractive  room),  but  the 
decorations  cost  £350,000  ! ' 

1  Lucia,  eldest  daughter  of  Lord  Dover. 

2  Second  daughter  of  the  1st  Earl  of  Ellesraere. 


•J;;,S  THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

"August  30.  —  yesterday,  as  the  family  here  are  imper- 
vious to  damp,  we  picknicked  in  the  forest.  Lady  Tank- 
erville  made  the  fire  and  boiled  the  kettle;  Lady  Blanche 
laid  the  cloth  and  cut  bread  and  butter;  a  young  Grey 
and  I  made  the  toast,  and  the  little  boys  and  girls  caught 
fresh  trout  out  of  the  burn  close  by.  In  the  evening  Lord 
Tankerville  told  US  this  story  :  — 

"  'My  father  had  a  beautiful  villa  at  Walton,  which  we 
have  given  up  now.  It  was  in  the  old  days  when  we  had 
to  ride  across  Putney  Heath  to  reach  it.  My  father  used  to 
think  it  very  odd  that  when  he  went  into  the  stables  to  see 
his  horses  in  the  morning,  they  were  all  in  a  foam  and  per- 
fectly exhausted,  as  if  they  were  worn  out  with  hard  riding. 
(  hie  day  he  was  coming  home  across  Putney  Heath,  and  he 
was  bringing  Lord  Derby  back  with  him.  When  they  came 
near  the  heath,  he  had  said,  "  Well,  now,  we  had  better 
have  our  pistols  ready,  because  highwaymen  are  often  to  be 
met  with  here."  So  they  loaded  their  pistols,  and  it  was 
not  a  bit  too  soon,  for  directly  after  a  highwayman  rode  up 
to  the  carriage-window  and  demanded  their  money  or  their 
lives.  As  he  spoke  he  recognised  them,  and  saw  also  that 
my  father  recognised  his  own  groom  upon  one  of  his  own 
horses.  In  the  moment's  hesitation  he  drew  back,  and  in 
that  moment  my  father  and  Lord  Derby  tired.  Several 
shots  were  exchanged  on  both  sides,  but  at  last  came  a 
moment's  pause,  during  which  Lord  Derby  cried  out  of  the 
window  to  the  postillion  to  ride  forward,  and  he  dashed  on 
at  full  gallop.  The  highwayman  fired  into  the  back  of 
the  carriage,  and  Lord  Derby  and  my  father  returned  his 
fire  by  leaning  out  of  the  windows.  At  last  the  back  of 
the  carriage  was  quite  riddled  with  shot,  and  the  ammuni- 
tion of  those  inside  was  quite  exhausted,  and  then  Lord 
Derby  held  out  a  white  handkerchief  as  a  flag  of  truce 
out  of  the  window,  and  the  highwayman  rode  up  and 
they  delivered  up  all  their  valuables  to  him.  Of  course 
my  father    never   saw  his    groom    again,  and    his  horses 


1865]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     239 

•were  in  much  better  condition  ever  afterwards  —  at  least 
those  which  were  left,  for  the  highwayman  rode  away 
upon  the  best  horse  in  the  stables.' " 

"  Hoivick,  Sept.  1,  1865.  —  Yesterday  I  was  able  to  stop 
the  express  at  the  private  station  (for  Howick),  whither 
Lord  Grey  sent  for  me.  It  was  a  drive  of  about  a  mile 
and  a  half,  chiefly  through  shrubberies  of  hollies  and 
rhododendrons,  to  this  large  square  house  with  wings. 
It  is  most  comfortable  inside,  with  a  beautiful  library 
opening  into  a  great  conservatory.  Lady  Grey 1  is  one 
of  the  severest-looking  and  one  of  the  kindest-meaning 
persons  I  have  ever  seen.  Lord  Grey  is  little  and  lame, 
but  gets  about  with  a  stick  very  actively.  He  is  quite 
grey,  but  the  very  image  of  Lady  Mary  Wood.  The 
rest  of  the  party  had  put  off  coming  for  a  day  from  dif- 
ferent reasons,  but  I  was  not  sorry  to  make  acquaintance 
alone  first  with  my  host  and  hostess,  and  they  were  most 
pleasant,  so  that  it  was  a  very  agreeable  evening." 

"  Sept.  2.  Yesterday  morning  a  great  bell  on  the  top  of 
the  house  summoned  all  in  it  to  prayers,  which  were  read 
by  Lord  Grey  in  the  breakfast-room  opening  on  to  very 
pretty  terraces  of  flowers,  with  perfect  shrubberies  of  sweet 
verbena,  for  the  climate  here  is  very  mild.  After  breakfast 
I  went  down  through  the  wood  to  the  sea,  not  a  mile  dis- 
tant, and  a  very  fine  bit  of  coast,  with  rich  colour  in  the 
rocks  and  water,  and  Dunstanborough  Castle  on  its  crag 
as  the  great  feature.  The  place  reminds  me  a  little  of 
Penrhus.  When  I  returned  from  driving  with  Lady  Grey 
to  Alnwick,  the  Belhavens  arrived,  and  before  dinner  the 
Bishop  of  London  and  Mrs.  Tait,  and  the  Durhams." 

"  Sept.  4.  My  dearest  mother  will  like  to  know  how  in- 
tensely I  have  enjoyed  being  at  Howick.     The  Greys  make 

1  Maria,  daughter  of  Sir  Joseph  Copley  of  Sprotborough. 


240  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

their  house  so  pleasant  and  the  life  here  is  so  easy.  Then 
Lady  Belhaven  '  is  always  celebrated  as  a  talker,  and  it  has 
been  delightful  to  sit  on  the  outskirts  of  interesting  con- 
versations between  my  host  and  Sir  George  Grey  or  the 
Bishop. 

"  ( )n  Saturday. afternoon  I  drove  with  the  Durhams  and 
Lady  Belhaven  to  Dunstanborough.  The  sea  was  of  a 
deep  Mediterranean  blue  under  the  cliffs  and  overhanging 
towers  of  the  ruined  castle.  Lord  Durham2  and  I  walked 
back  three  miles  along  the  cliffs  —  a  high  field-walk  like 
the  old  one  at  Eastbourne. 

"On  Sunday  the  Bishop  preached  at  the  little  church  in 
the  grounds.  It  has  been  rebuilt  and  decorated  with  carv- 
ings by  Lady  Grey  and  her  sisters-in-law.  In  the  chancel 
is  the  line  tomb  of  the  Prime  Minister  Lord  Grey.  I  went 
with  Durham  afterwards  all  over  the  gardens,  which  are 
charming,  with  resplendent  borders  of  old-fashioned  flow- 
ers: and  alter  afternoon  church,  we  all  went  down  through 
the  dene  to  the  sea,  where  there  is  a  bathing-house,  with  a 
delightful  room  fitted  up  with  sofas,  books,  &c,  just  above 
the  waves.  All  the  French  herring-fleet  was  out,  such  a 
pretty  sight.  The  Bishop  read  prayers  in  the  evening  to 
the  great  household  of  forty-eight  persons.  He  is  a  very 
pleasant,  amiable  Bishop. 

"I  enjoyed  seeing  so  much  of  Durham;  no  one  could 
help  very  much  liking  one  who  is  veiy  stiff  with  people  in 
general,  and  most  exceedingly  nice  to  oneself.  But  Lady 
Durham3  is  always  charming,  so  perfectly  naive,  natural, 
and  beautiful.  She  is  devoted  to  her  husband  and  he  to 
her.  Some  one  spoke  of  people  in  general  not  loving  all 
their  children.     She  said:  'Then  that  is  because  they  do 

1  Hamilton,  daughter  of  Walter  Campbell  of  Shawfield,  younger 
sister  of  Lady  Kuthven. 

-  My  third  cousin,  George,  2nd  Earl  of  Durham. 

8  Beatrix,  second  daughter  of  the  Marquis  of  Abercorn.  She  died 
Jan.  1871. 


1865]    ENGLISH  PLEASURES    AND    ROMAN   TRIALS     241 

not  love  their  husbands.  Some  women  think  no  more  of 
marriage  than  of  dancing  a  quadrille ;  but  when  women 
love  their  husbands,  they  love  all  their  children  equally. 
Every  woman  must  love  her  first  child:  the  degree  in 
which  they  love  the  others  depends  upon  the  degree  in 
which  they  love  their  husbands.' 

"  Sitting  by  her  at  dinner,  I  asked  if  she  had  ever  read 
'  Les  Miserables.'  '  No.  When  I  was  confirmed,  the 
clergyman  who  was  teaching  me  saw  a  French  novel  on  the 
table,  and  said,  "  My  dear  child,  you  don't  read  these 
things,  do  you?"  I  said  "No,"  which  was  quite  true,  for 
it  belonged  to  my  French  governess,  and  he  then  said, 
"  Well,  I  wish  you  never  would.  Don't  make  any  actual 
promise,  for  fear  you  should  not  keep  it,  but  don't  do  it  un- 
less you  are  obliged ;  "  and  I  never  have.' 

"  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  inconsistency  involved  by  the 
confirmation  ceremony,  by  which  young  ladies  renounced 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world,  being  generally  the 
immediate  predecessor  of  their  formal  entrance  upon  them. 

" '  Yes ;  I  never  thought  of  that.  But  certainly  my 
pomps  and  vanities  were  of  very  short  duration.  I  went 
to  three  balls,  two  tea-parties,  and  one  dinner,  and  that  was 
all  I  ever  saw  of  the  world  °,  for  then  I  was  married.  One 
year  I  was  in  the  school-room  in  subjection  to  every  one, 
ordered  about  here  and  there,  and  the  next  I  was  free  and 
my  own  mistress  and  married.' 

"  '  And  did  not  you  find  it  rather  formidable  ? '  I  said. 
'  Formidable  to  be  my  own  mistress  !  oh  no.  One  thing  I 
found  rather  formidable  certainly.  It  was  when  a  great 
deputation  came  to  Lambton  to  congratulate  George  upon 
his  marriage,  and  I  had  to  sit  at  the  end  of  the  table  with 
a  great  round  of  beef  before  me.  I  wanted  them  not  to 
think  I  was  young  and  inexperienced.  I  wanted  to  appear 
thirty  at  least ;  so  I  would  carve :  and  then  only  think  of 
their  saying  afterwards  in  the  newspaper  paragraphs,  "  We 
are  glad  to  learn  that  the  youthful  countess  is  not  only 

VOL.  II.  —  16 


242  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

amiable  but  intelligent."  1  was  glad  that  they  should 
think  I  was  amiable,  but  when  they  .said  I  was  intelligent, 
1  was  perfectly  furious,  as  it'  George's  wife  could  possibly 
have  been  anything  else. 

••  •  1  was  brought  up  a  Tory,  but  as  long  as  1  can  remem- 
ber 1  have  Celt  myself  a  Radical.  1  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  the  division  between  the  classes,  and  there  is  so  much 
good  in  a  working-man.  1  love  working-men:  they  are 
my  friends:  they  are  so  much  better  than  we  are. 

•••When  my  little  George  of  four  years  old  — such  a 
little  duck  he  is!  —  was  with  me  at  Weymouth,  1  told  him 
he  might  take  off  his  shoes  and  stockings  and  paddle  in  the 
water,  and  he  went  in  up  to  his  chest ;  and  then  the  little 
monster  said,  '-Now,  mania,  if  yon  want  to  get  me  again, 
you  may  come  in  and  fetch  me,  for  I  sha'n't  come  out."  I 
was  in  despair,  when  a  working-man  passed  by  and  said, 
"Do  you  want  that  little  bo}^,  ma'am?"  and  I  said  "  Yes," 
and  he  tucked  up  his  trousers  and  went  in  and  fetched 
George  out  for  me ;  but  if  the  marts  little  boy  had  been  in 
the  water,  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  have  offered  to  fetch 
him  out  for  him. 

"'And  when  I  was  going  to  church  at  Mr.  Cumming's 
in  Covent  Garden  (I  daresay  you  think  T  'm  very  wrong 
for  going  there,  but  I  can't  help  that),  it  began  to  pour 
with  rain,  and  a  cabman  on  a  stand  close  by  called  out, 
"Don't  you  want  a  cab,  ma'am?"  I  said  "Yes.  very 
much,  but  I've  got  no  money."  And  the  cabman  said. 
"  Oh,  never  mind,  jump  in  ;  you  '11  only  spoil  your  clothes 
in  the  rain,  and  I'll  take  you  for  nothing."  When  we  got 
to  the  church  door.  T  said,  "If  you  will  come  to  my  house 
you  shall  be  paid,"  but  he  wonld  not  hear  of  it,  and  T  have 
liked  cabmen  ever  since.  Oh,  there  is  so  much  good  in  the 
working-men  ;  they  are  so  much  better  than  we  are.' " 

"  Winton  Castle,  N.  B.,  Sept.  5,  1865.  My  sweetest 
mother  will  like  to  think   of  me  here  with  the  dear  old 


1865]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES    AND    ROMAN   TRIALS     243 

Lady  Ruthven.1  I  left  Howick  at  mid-day  yesterday,  with 
the  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Tait  and  their  son  Crauford,  an  Eton 
school-boy.  It  had  been  a  very  pleasant  visit  to  the  last, 
and  I  shall  hope  to  repeat  it  another  year,  and  also  to  go  to 
the  Durhams.  We  had  an  agreeable  journey  along  the 
cliffs.  I  had  become  quite  intimate  with  the  Taits  in  the 
three  days  I  was  with  them,  and  liked  the  Bishop  very 
much  better  than  Mrs.  Tait,  though  I  am  sure  she  is  a  very 
good  and  useful  woman.2  At  Tranent  Lady  Ruthven's 
carriage  was  waiting  for  me.  I  found  her  in  a  sadly 
nervous  state,  dreadfully  deaf,  and  constantly  talking,  the 
burden  of  her  refrain  b'einar  — 

'  Mummitie  inuiu,  mummitie  mum, 
Mummitie,  mummitie,  mummitie  mum.' 

But  in  the  evening  she  grew  much  better,  and  was  like 
other  people,  only  that  she  would  constantly  walk  in  and 
out  of  the  dark  ante-chambers  playing  on  a  concertina, 
which,  as  she  wore  a  tiara  of  pearls  and  turquoises,  had  a 
very  odd  effect  in  the  half  light;  and  then  at  eleven 
o'clock  at  night  she  would  put  on  her  bonnet  and  cloak 
and  go  off  for  a  walk  by  herself  in  the  woods.  Charming 
Miss  Minnie  Fletcher  of  Saltoun  is  here.  She  told  me 
that  — 

"  Sir  David  Brewster  and  his  daughter  went  to  stay  with 
the  Stirling's  of  Kippenross.  In  the  night  Miss  Brewster 
was  amazed  by  being  awakened  by  her  father  coming  into 
her  room  and  saying,  '  My  dear,  don't  be  alarmed,  but  I 
really  cannot  stay  in  my  room.  It  may  be  very  foolish  and 
nervous,  but  there  are  such  odd  noises,  such  extraordinary 
groanings  and  moanings,  that  I  positively  cannot  bear  it 

1  Mary,  widow  of  the  5th  Lord  Ruthven,  and  daughter  of  Walter 
Campbell  of  Shawfield. 

2  Catherine,  daughter  of  Archdeacon  Spooner.     Her  memoirs  were 
published  by  her  husband,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  in  1870. 


244  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

any  longer,  and  you  must  let  me  stay  here.     Don't  disturb 
yourself;    I  shall  easily  sleep  on  the  sola.* 

••  .Miss  Brewster  thought  her  father  very  silly,  but  there 
he  stayed  till  morning,  when  he  slipped  away  to  his  own 
room  to  dress,  so  as  not  to  be  found  when  the  servant  came 
to  call  his  daughter.  When  the  maid  came  she  said, 
'Pray,  ma'am,  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay  in  this 
house?"  Miss  Brewster  was  surprised,  and  said  she  did 
not  know.  '  Because,  ma'am,  it"  you  are  going  to  stay,  I 
am  sorry  to  say  I  must  leave  you.  1  like  you  very  much, 
ma'am,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  to  go,  but  I  would  do  anything 
rather  than  again  go  through  all  I  suffered  last  night :  such 
awful  groanings  and  moanings  and  such  fearful  noises  1 
can  never  endure  again.'  Miss  Brewster  was  veiy  much 
anno}7ed  and  laughed  at  the  maid,  who  nevertheless  con- 
tinued firm  in  her  decision. 

"  In  the  afternoon  Miss  Brewster  had  a  headache,  and  at 
length  it  became  so  bad  that  she  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
dinner-table  and  go  up  to  her  room.  At  the  head  of  the 
stairs  she  saw  a  woman  —  a  large  woman  in  a  chintz  gown, 
leaning  against  the  banisters.  She  took  her  for  the 
housekeeper,  and  said.  '  I  am  going  to  my  room:  will  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  send  my  maid  to  me  ?  '  The  woman  did 
not  answer,  but  bowed  her  head  three  times  and  then 
pointed  to  a  door  in  the  passage  and  went  downstairs. 
Miss  Brewster  went  to  her  room,  and  after  waiting  an 
hour  in  vain  for  her  maid,  she  undressed  and  went  to  bed. 
When  the  maid  came  up  she  asked  why  she  had  not  come 
before,  and  said  she  had  sent  the  housekeeper  for  her. 
'How  very  odd,'  said  the  maid,  'because  I  have  been 
sitting  with  the  housekeeper  the  whole  time.'  Miss 
Iirewster  then  described  the  person  she  had  seen,  upon 
which  the  maid  gave  a  shriek,  and  said,  '  Oh,  then  you 
have  seen  the  ghost.'  The  maid  was  in  such  a  state  of 
terror,  that  when  Mrs.  Stirling  came  up  to  inquire  after 
her  headache,  Miss  Brewster  asked  her  about  the  woman 


1865]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS  "  245 

she  had  seen,  when,  to  her  surprise,  Mrs.  Stirling  looked 
quite  agonised,  and  said,  '  Oh,  then  there  is  more  misery 
in  store  for  me.  You  do  not  know  what  that  ghost  has 
been  to  me  all  through  my  married  life. '  She  then  made 
Miss  Brewster  promise  not  to  tell  the  persons  who  slept  in 
the  room  pointed  at,  that  theirs  was  the  room.  It  was  a 
Major  and  Mrs.  Wedderburn  who  slept  there.  Mrs. 
Stirling  and  Miss  Brewster  then  both  wrote  out  accounts 
of  what  had  happened  and  signed  and  sealed  them. 
Before  the  year  was  out,  they  heard  that  the  Wedderburns 
were  both  killed  in  the  Indian  Mutiny." 

"  Winton  Castle,  Sept.  8.  My  visit  here  has  been  very 
pleasant  indeed.  The  Speaker  and  Lady  Charlotte 
Denison  came  on  Tuesday  afternoon  with  the  Belhavens. 
He  is  a  fine-looking  elderly  man,  with  a  wonderful  fund 
of  agreeable  small-talk.  Lady  Charlotte  *  is  very  refined, 
quite  unaffected,  and  very  pretty  still :  they  are  both  most 
kind  to  me.  Miss  Fletcher  has  been  here  all  the  time  to 
help  Lady  Ruthven,  for  whom  it  is  well  that  she  has  such 
a  kind,  pleasant  great-niece  only  a  mile  off,  to  come  and 
help  her  to  amuse  all  her  guests,  as  she  has  had  fifty-six 
parties  of  people  staying  in  the  house  in  the  last  year. 
We  saw  a  large  party  of  the  great-great  nephews  and 
nieces  of  Lady  Ruthven  and  Lady  Belhaven  on  Wednes- 
day, when  we  went  to  spend  the  afternoon  at  Lord 
Elcho's.  It  is  a  fine  place,  Amisfield  —  a  huge  red  stone 
house  in  a  large  park  close  to  the  town  of  Haddington, 
where  there  is  a  beautiful  old  cathedral,  but  in  ruins,  like 
all  the  best  Scotch  churches.  Lady  Elcho2  has  the  stately 
refinement  of  a  beautiful  Greek  statue.  Her  children  are 
legion,  the  two  eldest  boj^s  very  handsome  and  pleasant. 
We  went  over  the  house,  with  old  tapestry,   &c,   to   be 

1  Daughter  of  the  4th  Duke  of  Portland,  afterwards  Viscountess 
Ossington. 

2  Lady  Anne  Anson,  second  daughter  of  the  1st  Earl  of  Lichfield. 


246  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

seen,  and  the  gardens  with  fine  cedars,  and  then  all  Lord 
YVemyss's  twenty-four  race  horses  were  brought  out  in 
turn  to  be  exercised  round  the  courtyard  and  admired: 
after  which  we  had  Scotch  tea  —  scones,  cakes,  apricot- 
jam,  &c. 

"I  have  made  rather  friends  with  John  Gordon,1  a 
younger  brother  of  Lord  Aberdeen,  who  has  been  staying 
here.  He  is  a  second  Charlie  Wood  in  character,  thouffh 
only  eighteen,  and  I  have  seldom  seen  any  one  I  liked  as 
well  on  short  acquaintance.  His  family  are  all  supposed 
to  be  dreadfully  shy,  but  he  seems  to  be  an  exception. 

"Yesterday  Lady  Belhaven  and  Lady  Kuthven  went  to 
Edinburgh,  and  I  stayed  with  Miss  Fletcher,  and  walked 
with  her  in  the  afternoon  to  Saltoun,  where  we  had  tea 
with  Lady  Charlotte  and  saw  the  curiosities.  Lady 
Charlotte  Fletcher  2  said :  — 

" '  The  French  royal  family  were  often  here  at  Saltoun 
when  they  were  at  Holyrood  —  Charles  X.  and  the 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme.  and  the  Duchesse  de  Berri  and 
her  daughter,  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Guise  and  the 
Due  de  Polignac.  .  .  .  The  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  and 
the  Due  de  Polignac  used  to  go  down  to  the  bridge  in  the 
glen  and  stay  there  for  hours:  they  said  it  reminded  them 
so  much  of  fiance,  the  trees  and  the  water.  The  Due  de 
Polignac  said  our  picture  of  the  leave-taking  of  Louis 
XVI.  and  his  family  contained  figures  more  like  than  any 
he  had  seen  elsewhere.  We  turned  it  to  the  wall  and 
locked  the  door  when  they  came,  for  fear  the  Duchesse 
d'Angouleme  should  see  it,  but  the  little  Mademoiselle 
de  Berri  was  playing  hide-and-seek  through  the  rooms, 
and  she  got  in  by  the  outer  door,  and  it  was  the  first  thing 
she  observed,  and  she  insisted  on  seeing  it.  .  .  .  She  did 
me  a  little  drawing,  and  left  it  behind  her. 

The  family  were  very  fond  of  coming  here,  because 

1  Afterwards  7th  Earl  of  Aberdeen. 

2  Fourth  daughter  of  the  7th  Fail  of  Wemyss. 


u . 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     247 

my  father,  Lord  Wemyss,  had  been  kind  to  them  when 
they  were  here  during  the  first  Revolution.  On  the 
Duchesse  de  Berri's  birthday,  she  was  asked  what  she 
would  like  to  do  in  honour  of  it,  and  she^  chose  a  day  at 
Saltoun.  It  was  very  inconvenient  their  all  coming  with 
the  children  at  a  few  hours'  notice,  such  a  large  party, 
but  she  wrote  a  pretty  note,  saying  what  a  pleasure  it 
would  be  to  see  her  old  friends  again,  and  another  after- 
wards, saying  what  a  delight  it  had  been,  so  that  we  were 
quite  compensated.' 

"  On  Sunday,  when  it  was  church-time,  Lady  Ruthven 
said,  '  We  '11  just  gang  awa  to  the  kirk  and  see  what  sort 
of  a  discoorse  the  minister  makes ;  and  if  he  behaves  him- 
self, well  —  we  '11  ask  him  up  to  dinner!  '  She  sat  in  kirk, 
with  her  two  dogs  beside  her,  in  a  kind  of  chair  of  state 
just  under  the  pulpit,  where  she  might  have  been  mistaken 
for  the  clerk.  She  is  as  demonstrative  in  church  as  else- 
where, and  once  when  Miss  Fletcher  came  unexpectedly 
into  the  gallery  after  she  had  been  some  time  without 
seeing  her,  she  called  out,  w  Eh,  there  ye  are,  Minnie,  my 
darling, '  before  the  whole  congregation,  and  began  kissing 
her  hands  to  her.  When  a  child  screamed  in  kirk,  and 
its  mother  was  taking  it  out,  the  minister  interrupted  his 
discourse  with,  w  Na,  bide  a  wee :  I'm  no  that  fashed 
wi'  the  bairn.'  — '  Na,  na, '  said  the  mother,  '  I  '11  no  bide: 
it's  the  bairn  that's  fashed  wi'  ye.'  Talking  afterwards 
of  the  change  of  feeling  with  which  church-services  were 
usually  regarded  now-a-days,  Lady  Charlotte  Fletcher 
said :  — 

"'  Old  Lady  Hereford,  my  aunt,  was  quite  one  of  the 
old  school.  She  had  a  large  glass  pew  in  church,  and  the 
service  was  never  allowed  to  begin  till  she  had  arrived, 
settled  herself,  and  opened  the  windows  of  her  pew.  If 
she  did  not  like  the  discourse,  she  slammed  down  her 
windows.  After  the  service  was  over,  her  steward  used 
to  stand  by  the  pew  door  to  receive  her  orders  as  to  which 


248  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1865 

of  the  congregation  were  to  be  invited  to  dine  in  her  hall 
that  day.' 

"  While  tin'  party  were  talking  of  the  change  of  manners, 
Lord  Belhaven  said:  — 

"'  1  just  remember  the  old  drinking-  days:1  they  were 
just  dying  out  when  1  entered  the  army.  Scarcely  any 
oentlemen  used  to  drink  less  than  two  bottles  of  claret 
liter  dinner.  They  used  to  chew  tobacco,  which  was 
banded  round,  and  drink  their  wine  through  it,  wine  and 
tobacco- juice  at  the  same  time.  A  spittoon  was  placed 
between  every  two  gentlemen.  It  was  universal  to  chew 
tobacco  in  country-houses:  they  chewed  it  till  they  went 
in  to  dinner,  and  they  began  again  directly  the  ladies  left 
the  room,  when  tobacco  and  spittoons  were  handed  round. 

" '  There  were  usually  the  bottles  called  "  Jeroboams  ': 
on  the  table,  which  held  six  bottles  of  port.  The  old 
Duke  of  Cleveland2  always  had  his  wine-glasses  made 
without  a  foot,  so  that  they  would  not  stand,  and  you 
were  obliged  to  drink  off  the  whole  glass  when  you  dined 
with  him. 

" '  I  remember  once  dining  at  a  house  from  which  I  was 
going  away  the  next  morning.  I  got  to  bed  myself  at 
twelve.  When  I  came  down  to  go  off  at  eight,  I  asked 
when  the  other  gentlemen  had  left  the  dining-room. 
"  Oh,"  said  the  servant,  "  they  are  there  still/'  I  went  in, 
and  there,  sure  enough,  they  all  were.  When  they  saw 
me,  they  made  a  great  shout,  and  said,  "  Come,  now,  you 
must  drink  off  a  bumper,"  and  filled  a.  tumbler  with  what 
they  thought  was  spirits,  but  to  my  great  relief  I  saw  it 
was  water.  So  I  said,  "  Very  well,  gentlemen,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  drink  to  your  health,  and  of  course  you  wall  drink 
to  mine,"  —  so  I  drank  the  water,  and  they  drank  the 
spirits.' ' 

1  The  "custom  more  honoured  in  the  breach  than  the  observance." 
Hamlet. 
-  William  Henry.  1st  Duke  of  Cleveland,  who  died  in  1842. 


1865]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES    AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     249 

"  Castlecraig,  JYoblehouse,  Sept.  9.  I  came  out  this 
morning  by  the  railway  to  Broomlee,  a  pretty  line,  leading 
into  wild  moorland,  and  at  the  station  a  clog-cart  met  me, 
and  brought  me  six  miles  farther,  quite  into  the  heart  of 
the  Pentlands.  The  ascent  to  this  house  is  beautiful, 
through  woods  of  magnificent  alpine-looking  firs.  Addie 
Hay  1  was  waiting  for  me.  You  would  scarcely  believe 
him  to  be  as  ill  as  he  is,  and  he  is  most  cheerful  and 
pleasant,  making  no  difficulties  about  anything.  He  is 
often  here  with  my  present  host,  Sir  William  Carmichael." 

'  Winton  Castle,  Sept.  10.  Yesterday  I  saw  the  beauti- 
ful grounds  of  Castlecraig  —  green  glades  in  the  hills  with 
splendid  pines,  junipers,  &c,  and  part  of  the  garden  con- 
secrated as  a  burial-ground,  with  moss-grown  sculptured 
tombs  of  the  family  ancestors  on  the  green  lawn. 

"At  Eskbank  Lady  Ruthven  met  me,  and  I  came  on 
with  her  to  Newbattle.  It  is  an  old  house,  once  an  abbey, 
lying  low  in  a  large  wooded  park  on  the  banks  of  the  Esk 
—  a  fine  hall  and  staircase  hung  with  old  portraits,  and  a 
beautiful  library  with  long  windows,  carved  ceiling,  old 
books,  illuminated  missals,  and  stands  of  Australian 
plants.  Lady  Lothian  is  very  young  and  pretty,2  Lord 
Lothian  a  hopeless  invalid  from  paralysis.  She  showed 
me  the  picture  gallery  and  then  we  went  to  the  garden  — 
most  lovely,  close  to  the  rushing  Esk,  and  of  mediaeval 
aspect  in  its  splendid  flowers  backed  by  yew  hedges  and 
its  stone  sundials.  After  seeing  Lady  Lothian's  room  and 
pictures,  we  had  tea  in  the  garden.  The  long  drive  back 
to  Winton  was  trying,  as,  with  the  thermometer  at  70°, 
Lady  Ruthven  would  have  a  large  bottle  of  boiling  water 
at  the  bottom  of  the  close  carriage. 

"  Lady  Ruthven  is  most  kind,  but  oh !  the  life  with  her 

1  Adam,  fourth  son  of  Sir  Adam  Hay  of  Haystoun,  who  had  been 
one  of  my  greatest  friends  at  Christ  Church.     He  died  May  1871. 

2  Lady  Constance  Talbot,  daughter  of  the  19th  Earl  of  Shrewsbury. 


250  THE   s'lOKY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

is  bo  odd.  One  day  a  gentleman  coining  down  in  the 
morning  looked  greatly  agitated,  which  was  discovered  to 
be  owing  to  his  having  looked  out  of  his  window  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  believing  that  he  had  seen  a 
ghost  Hitting  up  and  down  the  terrace  in  a  most  ghastly 
clinging  white  dress.  It  was  the  lady  of  the  castle  in  her 
white  dressing-gown  and  night-gown!  " 

"  WiJiaio,  Sept.  14.  I  came  here  (to  the  Belhavens) 
after  a  two  days'  visit  to  Mrs.  Stirling  of  Glenbervie, 
whence  I  saw  Falkirk  Tryste —  the  great  cattle  fair  of 
Scotland.  It  was  a  curious  sight,  an  immense  plain 
covered  with  cattle  of  every  description,  especially  pictu- 
resque little  Highland  beasts  attended  by  drovers  in  kilts 
and  plumes.  When  I  saw  the  troops  of  horses  kicking 
and  prancing,  I  said  how  like  it  all  was  to  Rosa  Bonheur's 
'  Horse  Fair,'  and  then  heard  she  had  been  there  to  study 
for  her  picture. 

kt  We  dined  yesterday  at  Dalzel,  Lady  Emily  Hamilton's,1 
a  beautiful  old  Scotch  house,  well  restored  by  Hillings. 
To-day  is  tremendously  hot,  but  though  I  am  exhausted 
by  the  sun,  I  am  much  more  so  by  all  the  various  hungers 
I  have  gone  through,  as  we  had  breakfast  at  half-past  ten 
and  luncheon  at  half-past  five,  and  in  the  interval  went  to 
Bothwell  —  Lord  Home's,  -  -  beautiful  shaven  lawns  above 
a  deep  wooded  ravine  of  the  Clyde,  and  on  the  edge  of  the 
slope  a  fine  old  red  sandstone  castle." 

"  Lagaray,  Gareloch,  Sept.  17.  How  I  longed  for  my 
mother  on  Friday  in  the  drive  from  Helensburgh  along  a 
terrace  on  the  edge  of  the  Gareloch,  shaded  by  beautiful 
trees,  and  with  exquisite  views  of  distant  grey  mountains 
and  white-sailed  boats  coming  down  the  loch!  I  was 
most   warmly  welcomed   by  Robert  Shaw  Stewart2   and 

1  Daughter  of  the  7th  Earl  of  Leven. 

2  A  Roman  friend,  brother  of  Sir  Michael  Shaw  Stewart. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     251 

his  wife.  .  .  .  Yesterday  we  went  an  immense  excursion 
of  forty-five  miles,  seeing  the  three  lakes  —  Lomond, 
Long,    and  Gareloch." 

"  Carstairs  House,  Lanarkshire,  Sept.  18.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  kindness  of  the  Shaw  Stewarts,  and  I  was 
very  sorry  to  leave  them.  The  Gareloch' is  quite  lovely, 
such  fine  blue  mountains  closing  the  lake,  with  its  margin 
of  orange-coloured  seaweeds.  .  .  .  The  Monteith  family 
were  at  luncheon  when  I  arrived  at  this  large  luxurious 
house  —  the  guests  including  two  Italians,  one  a  handsome 
specimen  of  the  Guardia  Nobile  —  Count  Bolognetti  Cenci, 
a  nephew  by  many  greats  of  the  famous  Beatrice.  After 
luncheon  we  were  sent  to  the  Falls  of  the  Clyde  —  Cora 
Linn  —  a  grand  mass  of  water  foaming  and  dashing,  which 
the  Italians  called  '  carina' !  " 

Before  returning  home,  I  went  again  to  Chesters 
in  Northumberland,  to  meet  Dr.  Bruce,  the  famous 
authority  on  "  The  Roman  Wall "  of  Northumberland, 
on  which  he  has  written  a  large  volume.  It  was 
curious  to  find  how  a  person  who  had  allowed  his 
mind  to  dwell  exclusively  on  one  hobby  could  see  no 
importance  in  anything  else.  He  said,  "Rome  was 
now  chiefly  interesting  as  illustrating  the  Roman 
Wall  in  Northumberland,  and  as  for  Pompeii,  it 
was  not  to  be  compared  to  the  English  station  of 
Housesteads." 

At  the  end  of  September  I  returned  home,  and  had 
a  quiet  month  with  the  dear  mother,  who  was  now 
quite  well.  I  insert  a  fragment  of  a  letter  from  a 
niece  who  had  been  with  her  in  my  absence,  as 
giving  a  picture  of  her  peaceful,  happy  state  at  this 
time :  — 


252  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1865 

"Auntie  and  I  have  spent  our  evenings  in  reading  old 
letters  and  journals,  which  have  math'  the  past  seem 
nearer  than  the  present.  Hers  is  such  a  sweet  peaceful 
evening  of  life.  There  have  been  many  storms  and 
sorrows,  but  her  faith  has  stood  firm,  and  she  is  now 
calmly  waiting  her  summons  home.  Oh!  [  pray  that  she 
may  he  spared  to  us  yet  awhile,  now  so  doubly  deal'  to  us, 
the  one  link  left  with  the  loved  and  lost.*' 

We  left  Holmhurst  at  the  beginning  of  November, 
and  went  to  Italy  by  the  Mont  Cenis,  witli  Emma 
Simpkinson,  the  gentle  youngest  sister  of  my  Har- 
row tutor,  as  our  companion.  Fourteen  horses 
dragged  us  over  the  mountain  through  the  snow  in  a 
bright  moonlight  night,  during  the  greater  part  of 
which  I  crouched  upon  the  floor  of  the  carriage,  so  as 
to  keep  my  mother's  feet  warm  inside  my  waistcoat, 
so  great  was  my  terror  of  her  having  any  injury  from 
the  cold. 

My  Mother  to  Miss  Leycester. 

"  Spezia,  Nov.  11,  1865.  The  day  was  most  lovely  on 
which  we  left  Genoa,  and  so  was  the  drive  along  the 
coast,  reminding  us  of  Mentone  in  its  beauty  —  the  hills 
covered  with  olive-woods  and  orange-groves,  the  moun- 
tains and  rocky  bays  washed  by  the  bluest  of  blue  waves. 
We  dined  at  Ruta,  a  very  pretty  place  in  the  mountain, 
and  slept  at  Chiavari.  Saturday  was  no  less  beautiful, 
the  tramontana  keen  when  we  met  it,  like  a  March  day  in 
England,  but  the  sun  so  burning,  it  quite  acted  as  a 
restorative  as  we  wound  up  the  Pass  of  Bracco  after  Sestri 
—  lovely  Sestri.  We  had  the  carriage  open,  and  so  could 
enjoy  the  views  around  and  beneath  us,  though  the  preci- 
pices were  tremendous.  However,  the  road  was  good, 
and  occasionally  in  some  of  the  worst  places  there  was  a 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN  TRIALS     253 

bit  of  wall  to  break  tbe  line  at  the  edge.  Nothing  could 
be  more  grand  than  the  views  of  the  billowy  mountains 
with  the  Mediterranean  below.  At  Borghetto  was  our 
halting-place,  and  then  we  had  a  rapid  descent  all  the  way 
here,  where  we  arrived  at  half-past  six." 

"  Pisa,  Nov.  14.  To  continue  my  history.  Sunday  was 
again  a  splendid  day,  and  the  Carrara  mountains  most 
lovely,    especially   at   sunset.     On  Monday  we  drove    to 


THE    PASS    OF    BRACCO.1 


Porto  Venere,  and  spent  the  morning  in  drawing  at  the 
ruined  marble  church.  We  dined,  and  at  half-past  five 
set  out,  reaching  Pisa  at  half-past  seven.  And  here  was  a 
merciful  preservation  given  to  me,  where,  to  use  the 
words  of  my  favourite  travelling  Psalm  (xci.),  though  my 
feet  '  were  moved, '  the  angels  had  surely  '  charge  over  me. ' 
Augustus  had  just  helped  me  down  from  the  train  and 
turned  to  take  the  bags  out  of  the  carriage.  When  he 
re-turned  to  look  after  me,  I  lay  flat  on  the  ground  in  the 
deep  cutting  of  the  side  railway,  into  which,  the  platform 
being  narrow,  unfinished,  and  badly  lighted,  I  had  fallen 
in  the  dark.  I  believe  both  Augustus  and  Lea  thought  I 
was  dead  at  first,  so  frightful  was  the  fall,  yet,  after  a 
little,  I  was  able  to  walk  to  the  carriage,  though  of  course 
much  shaken.     Three  falls  have  I  had  this  year  —  in  the 

1  From  "  Central  Italy." 


254 


THE    STORY   OF    MY    LIFE 


[1865 


waves  of  the  Atlantic,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  at  Pisa 
—  and  yet.  thanks  be  to  God,  no  bones  have  been  broken.*" 

At  Pisa  we  stayed  at  the  excellent  Albergo  di 
Londra  which  was  kept  by  Flora  Limosin,  the  young- 
est daughter  of  Victoire  1  and  fostersister  of  Esme- 
ralda.      Victoire  herself  was  living  close  by,  in  her 


AT    PORTO    VENKKE." 


own  little  house,  filled  with  relics  of  the  past.  I  had 
not  seen  her  since  Italima's  death,  and  she  had  many 
questions  to  ask  me,  besides  having  much  to  tell  of  the 
extraordinary  intercourse  she  had  immediately  after 
our  family  misfortunes  with  Madame  de  Trafford  — 
the  facts  of  which  she  thus  dictated  to  me :  — 

Felix  and  Victoire  followed  Ttalima  from  Geneva  to 
Paris.  Victoire  says  —  "  We  rejoined  Madame  Hare  at 
the  house  of  Madame  de  Trafford.      I  went  with  her  and 


1  Madame  Victoire  Ackermann. 

2  From  "  Central  Italy." 


See  vol.  I. 


1865]     EXGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     255 

Mademoiselle  to  the  station  in  the  evening.  Madame 
Hare  did  all  she  could  to  console  me.  It  was  arranged 
that  Constance  should  accompany  them,  because  she  was 
Miss  Paul's  maid.  I  had  no  presentiment  then  that  I 
should  never  see  Madame  Hare  again.  After  they  were 
gone,  we  remained  at  the  house  of  Baize,  our  son-in-law, 
at  the  end  of  the  Faubourg  S.  Germain,  but  every  day  I 
went,  by  her  desire,  to  see  Madame  de  Trafford,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  Champs  Elysees.  She  was  all  kindness 
to  me.  She  did  all  she  could  to  console  me.  When  she 
had  letters  from  Madame  Hare,  she  read  them  to  me: 
when  I  had  them,  I  read  them  to  Madame  de  Trafford. 
Matters  went  from  bad  to  worse.  One  day  Madame  de 
Trafford  had  a  letter  which  destroyed  all  hope.  It  was 
three  days  before  she  ventured  to  read  it  to  me.  I  have 
still  the  impression  of  the  hour  in  which  she  told  me  what 
was  in  it.  She  made  me  sit  by  her  in  an  arm-chair,  and 
she  said,  '  II  ne  faut  pas  vous  illusionner,  Victoire: 
Madame  Hare  ne  reviendra  jamais ;  elle  est  absolument 
ruinee.'  I  remained  for  several  hours  unconscious;  I 
knew  there  was  no  hope  then.  I  was  only  sensible  that 
Madame  de  Trafford  gave  me  some  strong  essence,  which 
restored  me  in  a  certain  degree.  Then  she  did  all  she 
could  to  console  me.  It  was  the  most  wonderful  heart- 
goodness  possible.  She  took  me  back  that  day  to  my 
son-in-law's  house.  I  was  thinking  how  I  could  break  it 
to  Felix :  I  did  not  venture  to  tell  him  for  a  long  time. 
At  last  he  saw  it  for  himself ;  he  said,  '  II  y  a  quelque 
chose  de  pire  a  apprendre,  ou  vous  me  cachez  quelque 
chose,  Victoire,'  and  then  I  told  him.  The  next  day 
Madame  de  Trafford  said  that  she  could  not  endure  our 
sufferings.  *Apres  trente  ans  de  service,  apres  tant  de 
denouement,  elle  ne  pouvait  pas  souffrir  que  nous  irions  a 
la  mendicite\  Vous  n'avez  rien, '  she  said,  '  je  le  sais  plus 
que  vous.'  I  did  not  like  her  saying  this.  b  Yes,  we  have 
something, '  I  said ;  k  we  are  not  so  badly  off  as  that. '  — 


2-")6  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

'  Tais-toi,  Victoire,  vous  n'avez  rien, '  she  repeated,  and 
she  was  right,  it  was  her  second-sight  which  told  her. 
She  hade  me  seek  in  the  environs  of  Paris  for  a  small 
house,  any  one  I  liked,  in  any  situation,  and  she  would 
buy  it  for  me.  If  there  was  a  large  house  near  it,  so  much 
the  better  —  that  she  would  buy  for  herself.  She  said  she 
knew  I  could  not  live  there  upon  nothing,  but  that  she 
should  give  me  an  annuity,  and  that  Felix  'a  cause  de  son 
rhumatisme, '  must  have  a  little  carriage.  I  was  quite 
overwhelmed.  *  Mais.  Madame,  nous  ne  mclitons  pas 
cela, '  I  said.  '  Oui,  Victoire,  je  sais  que  vous  le  mdritez 
bien,  et  je  le  veux.''  I  said  it  was  impossible  I  could  accept 
such  favours  at  her  hands.  She  only  repeated  with  her 
peculiar  manner  and  intonation  —  lje  le  veux. '  The  next 
day  we  both  went  to  her.  Her  table  was  already  covered 
with  the  notices  of  all  the  houses  to  let  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Paris.  'Nous  allons  visiter  tout  cela,'  she  said, 
1  nous  allons  choisir. '  Both  Felix  and  I  said  it  was  impos- 
sihle  we  could  accept  such  kindness,  when  we  could  do 
nothing  for  her  in  return.  '  Est-ce  que  je  veux  acheter  votre 
anlitid'.'',  she  said.  She  repeatedly  said  that  she  wished 
nothing  but  to  come  and  see  us  sometimes,  and  that  per- 
haps she  should  come  every  day.  Thus  we  went  on  for 
fifteen  days,  but  both  Felix  and  I  felt  it  was  impossible  we 
could  accept  so  much  from  her;  besides,  Felix  suffered  so 
much  from  his  rheumatism,  and  he  felt  that  the  climate  of 
Pisa  might  do  him  good ;  besides  which,  our  hearts,  always 
turned  to  Pisa,  for  it  seemed  as  if  Providence  had  willed 
that  we  should  go  there,  in  disposing  that  Madame 
Jacquet,  who  had  a  claim  to  our  house  for  her  life,  should 
<lie  just  at  that  time.  We  made  a  pretext  of  the  health  of 
Felix  to  Madame  de  Trafford,  but  it  was  fifteen  days  before 
she  would  accept  our  decision.  '  Eh  bien,  vous  voulez  tou- 
jours  aller  a  votre  masure  la-bas  a  Pise, '  said  Madame  de 
Trafford.  She  called  our  house  a  '  masure. '  '  Eh  bien, 
j'irai  avec   vous,  je   veux   aussi  aller  a  Pise,  moi."     She 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     257 

wrote  to  M.  Trafford,  who  came  over  to  take  leave  of  her, 
as  he  always  does  when  she  leaves  Paris,  and  she  arranged 
her  apartment.  .  .  .  'Oh,  comme  c'est  une  femme  d'ordre, 
et  comme  son  appartement  est  beau,  le  plus  beau  que  j'ai 
jamais  vu,  meme  a  la  cour.'      Then  she  left  Paris  with  us. 

"  Voila  sa  prevenance  —  the  going  to  Pisa  was  in  order 
that  she  might  undertake  all  the  expenses  of  our  journey. 
Quand  elle  est  chez  elle,  elle  est  tres  dconome,  mais  quand 
elle  voyage,  elle  voyage  grandement.  Where  another 
person  would  give  two  francs,  Madame  de  Trafford  gives 
ten.  She  is  always  guided  by  her  seconde  vue :  she  reads 
the  character  in  the  face.  She  wished  us  to  travel  first- 
class,  and  she  insisted  on  taking  first-class  tickets  for  us 
all,  but  Felix  absolutely  refused  to  go  in  anything  but 
a  second-class  carriage.  I  travelled  with  Madame  de 
Trafford.  We  went  first  to  Turin.  Thence,  '  pour 
donner  distraction  a  Felix,  elant  ancien  militaire, '  Madame 
de  Trafford  insisted  on  taking  us  to  the  battle-fields  of 
Solferino  and  Magenta.  Elle  nous  a  fait  visiter  tout  cela, 
et  vraiment  grandement.  At  last  we  reached  Pisa.  It 
was  then  that  Madame  de  Trafford  first  revealed  to  us 
that  she  insisted  to  rent  our  house.  She  insisted  upon 
paying  for  it,  not  the  usual  rent,  but  the  same  that  she 
paid  for  her  beautiful  apartments  in  the  Hotel  de  la 
Melropole,  and  nothing  could  turn  her  from  this ;  she  was 
quite  determined  upon  it.  Every  day  she  ordered  a  large 
dinner;  although  she  only  ate  a  morsel  of  chicken  herself, 
everything  was  served  and  then  removed.  Felix  served 
her.  It  was  in  order  that  we  might  have  food.  It  was 
the  same  with  wine:  she  always  had  a  bottle  of  wine, 
Madeira  or  whatever  it  might  be :  a  new  bottle  was  to  be 
uncorked  every  day ;  she  only  drank  half  a  glass  herself, 
but  the  same  bottle  was  never  allowed  to  appear  twice. 

"  Up  to  that  time  I  had  never  entirely  believed  in  her 
second-sight.  It  was  just  after  we  arrived  in  Pisa  that  I 
became  quite  convinced  of  it.     I  was  astonished,   on  her 

VOL.  II.  —  17 


258  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [I860 

first  going  into  our  house,  to  see  her  walk  up  to  one  of  the 
beds  and  feel  at  tin-  mattresses,  ami  then  she  turned  to  me 
and  said,  '  On  voiis  a  vole,  Vietoire;  vous  avez  mis  ici  de 
la  bonne  Laine,  et  on  a  mis  la  malsaine  et  vieille  laine.'  I 
did  not  believe  her  at  the  time.  I  had  scut  money  to  Pisa 
to  pay  for  the  re-stuffing  of  those  vers  mattresses:  after- 
wards I  unripped  the  mattresses,  and  found  it  was  just  as 
she  said.  From  time  to  time  in  England  we  had  bought 
a  little  linen,  because  the  house  was  let  without  lim  11. 
M.  Hare  had  left  a  thousand  francs  to  Felix  and  me. 
This  was  paid  to  us  in  London;  therefore  we  had  spent  it 
in  carpets  and  linen.  The  carpets  we  sent  at  once  to 
Fisa.  The  linen  was  also  sent,  but  it  was  left  packed  up 
in  boxes  under  the  care  of  the  woman  who  looked  after  the 
house.  Soon  after  we  arrived,  Madame  de  Trafford  asked 
if  I  had  any  linen.  I  said  '  Yes,'  and  going  to  the  boxes, 
unlocked  them,  and  brought  the  sheets  and  towels  which 
she  required.  She  Pelt  at  them,  and  then  she  said,  k  On 
vous  a  vole-  encore  ici,  Madame  Vietoire;  vous  avez  mis 
de  telles  et  telles  choses  dans  une  telle  et  telle  boite.' — 
'  Oui,  e'est  ainsi, '  I  replied.  'Eh  bien,  on  vous  a  vole- 
telles  et  telles  choses  dans  une  telle  et  telle  boite. '  I  rushed 
to  look  over  the  boxes,  and  it  was  just  as  she  said.  The 
third  time  was  when  we  went  to  Florence,  for  she  would 
take  me  to  spend  some  days  with  her  at  Florence.  She 
bought  me  a  beautiful  black  silk  dress  to  wear  when  I  went 
with  her,  and  it  was  one  of  her  prevenances  that  we  should 
not  go  to  any  hotel  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  to,  for 
she  wished  me  to  be  entirely  with  her  sans  aucune  re- 
marque.  When  we  went  to  Florence,  the  twro  large  boxes 
Madame  de  Trafford  had  brought  with  her  were  left  in  the 
salon  at  Pisa.  When  we  came  back  she  said,  with  her  pecu- 
liar intonation,  '  Je  vous  prie,  Vietoire,  de  compter  mes 
mouchoirs-  savez-vous  combien  j'ai?'  —  '  Mais  oui, 
Madame;  vous  en  avez  cinque  paquets  avec  des  douzaines 
en   chaque.' — '  Eh  bien,   comptez-les:  on  m'a  vole*  trois 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     259 

dans  mi  paquet,  deux  dans  un  autre,'  &c.  Effectivement 
it  was  just  as  Madame  de  Trafford  had  said:  it  must  have 
been  the  same  person  who  had  taken  my  linen  before. 

"It  was  always  the  custom  at  the  convent  of  S.  Antonio, 
which  is  close  to  our  house,  that  any  poor  people  who 
chose  to  come  to  the  door  on  a  Saturday  should  receive 
something.  Madame  de  Trafford,  from  her  window,  saw 
the  people  waiting,  and  asked  me  what  it  meant.  When 
I  told  her,  she  desired  me  to  go  to  the  convent  and  find 
out  exactly  what  it  was  they  received.  Madame  de  Trafford 
will  never  be  contradicted,  so  I  went  at  once.  When  I 
came  back  I  told  her  that  it  was  one  kruetz  or  seven 
centimes.  She  thought  this  much  too  little,  and  bade  me 
give  each  of  the  people  a  paul.  I  sent  the  money  down 
to  them.  The  result  was  that  next  time,  instead  of  ten, 
two  or  three  hundred  poor  people  came.  They  all  received 
money.  It  made  quite  a  sensation  in  the  quarter.  The 
house  used  to  be  quite  surrounded  and  the  streets  blocked 
up  by  the  immense  crowds  at  that  time.  It  became  neces- 
sary to  fix  a  day.  Thursday  was  appointed,  that  was  the 
day  on  which  Madame  de  Trafford  gave  her  alms.  One 
day  from  the  window  she  saw  a  poor  woman  with  a  child 
in  her  arms.  '  Voila  une  qui  est  bien  malheureuse, '  she 
said;  '  descendez,  je  vous  prie,  et  donnez-lui  de  l'argent 
sans  compter.'  One  cannot  disobey  Madame  de  Trafford. 
I  went  down  directly,  and  gave  a  handful  of  silver  to  the 
woman,  shutting  the  door  upon  her  thanks  and  leaving  her 
petrified  with  astonishment. 

"  One  day  we  went  to  Leghorn  by  the  eleven-o'clock 
train  (for  she  always  made  me  go  with  her).  We  descended 
at  the  hotel,  and  then  she  desired  me  to  order  a  carriage 
— '  le  plus  bel  Equipage  qu'on  pourrait  avoir. '  Soon  after- 
wards the  carriage  came  to  the  door:  it  was  a  very  poor 
carriage  indeed,  and  the  coachman  wore  a  ragged  coat  and 
a  wide-awake  hat.  She  seemed  surprised,  and  asked  me  if 
I  could  not  have  done  better  for  her  than  that,  and,  knowing 


260  THE    STORY   OF    MY    LIKE  [1865 

her  character,  I  was  quite  angry  with  the  master  of  the 
hotel  for  ordering  such  a  carriage;  but  in  reality  there  was 
no  other,  all  the  others  were  engaged.  So  at  length  we  got 
in,  Ian  when  we  had  gone  some  distance  she  began  to  fix 
her  eyes  upon  the  driver,  and  said,  '  Mais  est-ee  qu'on  pent 
aller  avec  un  cocher  qui  a  an  trou  comme  ca  dans  son 
habit?'  and  she  desired  him  to  drive  hack  to  the  hotel. 
As  we  went  back  she  said  to  me,  '  Ce  pauvre  jeune  homme 
doit  etre  bien  malheureux,  dites-lui  de  venir  a  Thotel. ' 
When  we  got  back  to  the  inn,  she  desired  me  to  procure 
everything  that  was  necessary  to  dress  the  young  man, 
everything  complete,  and  of  the  best.  But  I  could  not 
undertake,  myself,  to  dress  the  young  man,  so  I  asked  the 
master  of  the  hotel  to  do  it  for  me.  At  Leghorn  this  is 
not  so  difficult  because  there  are  so  many  ready-made 
shops.  So  the  landlord  procured  a  complete  set  of  clothes, 
coat,  trousers,  waistcoat,  boots,  hat,  everything,  and 
Madame  de  Trafford  gave  orders  that  he  should  be  shaved 
and  washed  and  sent  in  to  her.  When  he  came  in,  the 
change  was  most  extraordinary;  he  was  such  a  handsome 
young  man  that  I  should  not  have  known  him.  lint 
Madame  de  Trafford  only  turned  to  me  and  said,  '  Mais  je 
vous  ai  ordonne"  de  lui  procurer  un  habillement  complet, 
et  est-ce  que  vous  pensez  que,  avec  un  habit  comme  ca,  il 
peut  porter  cette  vilaine  vieille  chemise  ?  '  for  she  perceived 
directly  that  they  had  not  changed  his  shirt,  which  I  had 
never  thought  of.  The  shirt  was  procured,  but  there  was 
always  something  wanting  in  the  eyes  of  Madame  de 
Trafford.  '  Mais  que  fera  ce  jeune  homme,'  she  said,  '  s'i] 
est  enrhume\  quand  il  n'a  pas  de  mouchoirs  de  poche?  '  and 
then  I  was  obliged  to  get  other  shirts  and  socks,  and 
cravats  and  handkerchiefs  —  in  short,  a  complete  trousseau. 
And  then  a  commoner  dress  was  wanted  for  the  morning: 
and  then  the  tailor  was  ordered  to  come  again  with  great- 
coats. Of  these  he  had  two;  one  cost  much  more  than 
the  other,  but  Madame  de  Trafford  chose  that  which  cost 
the  most. 


1865]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     261 

"  Le  jeune  homme  regardait  tout  qa  comme  un  reve.  II 
ne  le  croyait  pas,  lui,  et  il  disait  rien  du  tout:  il  laissa 
faire.  II  disait  apres  a  Felix  qu'il  pensait  que  c'dtait  des 
mystifications,  et  il  ne  croyait  pas  a  ce  qu'il  voyait. 

"At  last  when  all  was  completed  and  paid  for  in  his 
presence,  four  o'clock  came,  and  he  mounted  on  his  box 
and  drove  us  to  the  station.  All  the  little  boys  in  the 
street,  who  had  known  him  in  his  old  dress,  ran  along  by 
the  side  of  the  carriage  to  stare  at  him.     At  last,  when  we 


LA    SPINA,    PISA.1 


reached  the  station  and  were  actually  going  off,  he  began 
to  believe,  and  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before  all  the 
people  in  his  gratitude  to  Madame  de  Trafford.  'Je  me 
suis  soulag^e  d'un  poids  en  laissant  ce  jeune  homme  ainsi, ' 
said  Madame  de  Trafford  to  me. 

""After  this,"  continued  Victoire,  "came  the  great 
floods  in  the  marshes  near  Pisa.  When  Madame  de 
Trafford  heard  of  the  sufferings  which  they  caused,  she 
bade  me  order  a  carriage  and  drive  out  there  with  her. 
We  drove  as  far  as  we  could,  and  then  we  left  the  carriage 
and  walked  along  a  little  embankment  between  the  waters 
to  where  there  were  some  cottages  quite  flooded,  from 
which  some  poor  women  crept  out  along  some  planks  to 

1  From  "  Central  Italy." 


262  THE   STOEY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1865 

the  bank  on  which  we  wore.  Before  we  Left  the  hotel, 
Madame  de  Trafford  had  said,  '  Mettez  vos  grandes  poches' 
(because  she  had  made  me  have  some  very  large  pockets 
made,  very  wide  and  deep,  to  wear  under  my  dress  and 
hold  her  valuables  when  we  travelled),  and  then  she  had 
said  that  1  was  to  fill  them  up  to  the  brim  with  Large 
piastres,  without  counting  what  I  took.  1  had  shovelled 
piastres  into  my  pockets  by  handfuls  till  I  was  quite 
weighed  down.  I  did  not  like  doing  it,  but  I  was  obliged 
to  do  as  she  bade  me.  Then  she  said.  '  Have  you  taken  as 
much  as  your  pockets  will  hold'/  I  wish  them  to  be  filled 
to  the  brim.'  When  Ave  arrived  and  saw  the  poor  women. 
she  said,  w  Donnez-leur  des  piastres,  mais  donnez-les  par 
poignets,  et  surtout  ne  comptez  pas,  ne  comptez  jamais.' 
So  I  took  a  large  heap  of  piastres,  and  put  them  into  the 
hands  of  Madame  de  Trafford  that  she  might  give  them  to 
the  women.  Then  she  began  to  be  angry  — '  Je  vous  ai 
dit  de  les  donner,  je  ne  les  veux  pas.'  So  I  began  to  give 
a  handful  of  piastres  to  one  woman  and  another,  all  with 
out  counting;  even  to  the  children  Madame  de  Trafford 
desired  me  to  give  also.  At  first  they  were  all  quite  mute 
with  amazement,  then  the  women  began  to  call  aloud  to 
me,  '  E  chi  e  questa  principessa  benedetta,  caduta  dal 
cielo?  dite  chi  e,  che  possiamo  ringraziarla. '  —  '  Qu'est-ce 
qu'elles  disent  done ? '  said  Madame  de  Trafford.  '  Mais, 
Madame,  elles  demandent  quelle  princesse  vous  etes  qu'elles 
puissent  vous  remercier. '  — '  Dites-leur  que  je  ne  suis  pas 
princesse,'  said  Madame  de  Trafford,  'que  je  ne  suis 
(prune  pauvre  femme  taite  en  chair  et  os  comme  elles.' 
"Then  Madame  de  Trafford  asked  them  if  there  were  no 
more  poor  people  there,  and  they  went  and  fetched  other 
poor  women  and  children,  till  there  was  quite  a  crowd. 
To  them  also  she  ordered  me  to  give  piastres  — '  toujours 
sans  compter'  —  till  at  last,  through  much  giving,  my 
pockets  were  empty.  Then  Madame  de  Trafford  was  really 
angry--  '  Je  vous  ai  dit,  Madame  Victoire,  de  porter  autant 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     263 

que  vous  pouviez,  et  vous  ne  l'avez  pas  fait.' — '  Mais, 
Madame,  vous  ne  m'avez  pas  dit  de  mettre  quatre  poches, 
vous  m'avez  dit  de  mettre  deux  poches:  ces  deux  poches 
dtaient  remplis,  a  present  les  voila  vides. ' 

"  When  we  were  turning  to  go  away,  all  the  people, 
who  had  not  till  that  moment  believed  in  their  good 
fortune,  fell  on  their  knees,  and  cried,  '  Oh,  Signore,  noi 
ti  ringraziamo  d'  avere  mandato  questa  anima  benedetta,  e 
preghiamo  per  ella. '  — '  Mais  retournez  bien  vite  a  la 
voiture,  mais  montez  done  bien  vite,  Madame  Victoire,' 
said  Madame  de  Trafford,  and  we  hurried  back  to  the 
carriage;  and  the  coachman,  concerning  whom  she  had 
taken  care  that  he  should  not  see  what  had  happened,  was 
amazed  to  see  us  coming  with  all  this  crowd  of  poor 
women  and  children  following  us.  When  we  were  driving 
away,  Madame  de  Trafford  said,  '  Quel  jour  heureux  pour 
nous,  Madame  Victoire,  d'avoir  soulage-  tant  de  misere; 
quel  bonheur  de  pouvoir  faire  tant  de  felicite"  avec  un  peu 
d'argent. '  " 

After  remaining  many  weeks  at  Pisa  with  Victoire, 
Madame  de  Trafford  had  accompanied  her  to  Rome, 
whither  she  went  in  December  1859  to  arrange  the 
affairs  of  Italima  at  the  Palazzo  Parisani,  and  thence, 
having  fulfilled  her  mission,  and  seen  Victoire  com- 
fortably established  in  her  Pisan  home,  Madame  de 
Trafford  had  returned  to  Paris. 

In  1865  the  journey  from  Pisa  to  Rome  was  still 
tiresome  and  difficult.  We  went  by  rail  to  Nunzi- 
atella,  and  there  a  cavalcade  was  formed  (for  mutual 
protection  from  the  brigands),  of  six  diligences  with 
five  horses  apiece  with  patrols  on  each  carriage,  and 
mounted  guards  riding  by  the  side.     The  cholera  had 


264  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1865 

been  raging,  so  at  Montalto,  one  of  the  highest  points 

of  tht'  dreary  Maremma,  we  were  stopped,  and  those 
who  were  "unclean" — i.  e.,  had  omitted  to  provide 
themselves  with  clean  bills  of  health  at  Leghorn  — 
were  detained  for  eight  days'  quarantine.  We  had 
obtained  "clean"  hills,  from  the  Spanish  Consul, 
grounded  upon  the  hotel  hills  of  the  different 
places  we  had  slept  at  since  crossing  the  Alps,  and, 
with  others  of  our  kind,  were  taken  into  a  small 
white-washed  room  filled  with  fumes  of  lime  and 
camphor,  where  Ave  were  shut  up  for  ten  minutes, 
without  other  hurt  than  that  any  purple  articles  of 
dress  worn  by  the  ladies  came  out  yellow.  Most 
dreary  was  the  long  after-journey  through  a  deserted 
region,  without  a  house  or  tree  or  sign  of  habitation, 
till  at  10  P.  m.  we  came  in  sight  of  the  revolving 
light  of  Civita  Vecchia,  beautifully  reflected  in  the 
sea.  Then  I  had  to  watch  all  the  luggage  being 
fumigated  for  three  midnight  hours.  However, 
November  18  found  us  established  in  Rome  in  the 
high  apartment  of  the  Tempietto  (Claude  Lorraine's 
house),  at  the  junction  of  the  Via  Sistina  and  Via 
Gresoriana,  with  the  most  glorious  view  from  its 
windows  over  all  the  Eternal  City,  and  a  pleasant 
English-woman,  Madame  de  Monaca,  as  our  landlady. 
Hurried  travellers  to  Rome  now  can  hardly  imagine 
the  intense  comfort  and  repose  which  we  felt  in  old 
days  in  unpacking  and  establishing  ourselves  in  our 
Roman  apartment,  which  it  was  worth  while  to 
make  really  pretty  and  comfortable,  as  we  were  sure 
to  be  settled  there  for  at  least  four  or  five  months, 
with    usually  far  more  freedom   from   interruptions, 


1S65]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND    ROMAN    TRIALS     265 

and  power  of  following  our  own  occupations,  than 
would  have  attended  us  in  our  own  home,  even  had 
health  not  been  in  question.  Most  delightful  was  it, 
after  the  fatigues  and  (on  my  mother's  account)  the 
intense  anxieties  of  the  journey,  to  wake  upon  the 
splendid  view,  with  its  succession  of  aerial  distances, 
and  to  know  how  many  glorious  sunsets  we  had  to 
enjoy  behind  the  mighty  dome  which  rose  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brown-grey  city.  And  then  came 
the  slow  walk  to  Church  along  the  sunny  Pincio 
terrace,  with  the  deepest  of  unimaginable  blue  skies 
seen  through  branches  of  ilex  and  bay,  and  garden 
beds,  beneath  the  terraced  wall,  always  showing 
some  flowers,  but  in  spring,  quite  ablaze  with  pansies 
and  marigolds. 

The  first  time  we  went  out  to  draw  was  to  the 
gardens  of  S.  Onofrio,  where,  when  we  were  last 
here,  we  used  to  be  very  much  troubled  by  a  furious 
dog.  We  rang  the  bell,  and  the  woman  answered ; 
she  recognised  us,  and,  without  any  preliminary 
greetings,  by  an  association  of  ideas,  exclaimed  at 
once,  "  II  cane  e  morto."     It  was  very  Italian. 

So  many  people  beset  me  during  this  winter  with 
notes  or  verbal  petitions  that  I  would  go  out  draw- 
ing with  them,  that  at  last  I  wrote  on  a  sheet 
of  paper  a  list  of  the  days  (three  times  a  week)  on 
which  I  should  go  out  sketching,  and  a  list  of  the 
places  I  should  go  to,  and  desiring  that  any  one 
who  wished  to  go  with  me  would  find  themselves  on 
the  steps  of  the  Trinita  de'  Monti  at  10  a.  m.,  and 
sent  it  round  to  my  artistic  acquaintance.  To  my 
astonishment,   on    the    first   day   mentioned,  when  I 


266  THE  STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1865 

expected  to  meet  one  or  two  persons  at  most,  I  found 
the  steps  covered  by  forty  ladies,  in  many  cases 
attended  by  footmen,  carrying  their  luncheon-baskets, 
camp-stools,  &c.  I  introduced  tour  ladies  to  each 
other  that  they  might  drive  out  together  to  the 
Campagna,  and  I  generally  tried  to  persuade  those 
who  had  carriages  of  their  own  to  offer  seats  to  their 
poorer  companions.  For  a  time  all  went  radiantly. 
but,  in  a  few  weeks,  two-thirds  of  the  ladies  were 
"en  delieatesse"  and,  at  the  end  of  two  months,  they 
were  all  ki  en  froid,"  so  that  the  parties  had  to  he 
given  up.  Of  the  male  sex  there  was  scarcely  ever 
any  one  on  those  sketching  excursions,  except  myself 
and  my  cousin  Frederick  Fisher,1  who  was  staying  at 
Rome  as  tutor  to  the  young  Russian  Prince,  Nicole 
Dolgorouki.  He  was  constantly  with  us  during  the 
winter,  and  was  a  great  pleasure  from  his  real 
affection  for  my  mother,  who  was  very  fond  of 
him. 

In  the  spring  Esmeralda  came  to  Rome,  and  I 
used  often  to  go  and  see  her  in  the  rooms  at  Palazzo 
Parisani.  She  was  very  fragile  then,  and  used  to 
lie  almost  all  day  upon  an  old  velvet  sofa,  looking, 
except  for  the  heavy  masses  of  raven  hair  which 
were  still  uncovered,  almost  like  an  uncloistered  nun, 
with  her  pale  face  and  long  black  dress,  unrelieved 
at  the  throat,  and  with  a  heavy  rosary  of  large  black 
beads  and  cross  at  her  waist.  • 


1  His  mother  was  Susan,  daughter  of  William  Leycester,  my 
mother's  first  cousin.  She  was  murdered  during  the  Indian  Mutiny, 
with  her  hushand  and  child. 


1865]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     267 
From  my  JOURNAL. 

"  Rome,  Dec.  21,  1865.  Cardinal  Cecchi  died  last  week, 
and  lay  in  state  all  yesterday  in  Ms  palace,  on  a  high  bier, 
with  his  face  painted  and  rouged,  wearing  his  robes,  and 
with  his  scarlet  hat  on  his  head.  Cardinals  always  lie  in 
state  on  a  high  catafalque,  contrary  to  the  general  rule, 
winch  prescribes  that  the  higher  the  rank  the  lower  the 
person  should  lie.  Princess  Piombino  lay  in  state  upon 
the  floor  itself,  so  very  high  was  her  rank. 

"  The  Cardinal  was  carried  to  church  last  night  with  a 
grand  torchlight  procession,  which  is  always  considered 
necessary  for  persons  of  his  rank ;  but  it  is  expensive,  as 
everything  in  Rome  costs  double  after  the  Ave  Maria. 
The  fee  for  a  frate  to  walk  at  a  funeral  is  four  baiocchi  in 
the  daytime,  but  after  the  Ave  it  is  eight  baiocchi.  When 
the  Marchesa  Ponziani  was  taken  to  church  the  other  day, 
all  the  confraternities  in  Rome  attended  with  torches.1 

"To-day  at  10  A.M.  the  Cardinal  was  buried  in  the 
church  at  the  back  of  the  Catinari.  According  to  old 
custom,  when  he  was  put  into  the  grave,  his  head-cook 
walked  up  to  it  and  said,  '  At  what  time  will  your  Emi- 
nence dine?'  For  a  minute  there  was  no  response,  and 
then  the  major-domo  replied,  '  His  Eminence  will  not  want 
dinner  any  more '  {non  vuol  altro).  Then  the  head  foot-man 
came  in  and  asked,  '  At  what  time  will  your  Eminence 
want  the  carriage  ? '  and  the  major-domo  replied,  '  His 
Eminence  will  not  want  the  carriage  any  more.'  Upon 
which  the  footman  went  out  to  the  door  of  the  church, 
where  the  fat  coachman  sat  on  the  box  of  the  Cardinal's 
state  carriage,  who  said,  '  At  what  time  will  his  Eminence 
be  ready  for  the  carriage  ? '  and  when  the  footman  replied, 
'  La  sua  Eminenza  non  vuol  altro,'  he  broke  his  whip,  and 
throwing  down  the  two  pieces  on  either  side  the  carriage, 
flung  up  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  and  drove  off. 

1  The  famous  S.  Francesca  Romana  had  been  a  member  of  the 
Ponziani  family. 


268  THE    STOKY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1865 

"  Tlie  other  day  Mrs.  Goldsmid  was  in  a  church  waiting 
for  her  confessor,  who  was  not  ready  to  come  out  of  the 
sacristy.  While  she  was  waiting,  two  men  came  in  carry- 
ing s ething  between  them,   which   she  soon  saw  was  a 

dead  Irate.  His  robe  was  too  short,  and  his  little  white 
legs  protruded  below.  They  put  him  on  a  raised  couch 
with  a  steep  incline  and  left  him,  and  her  agony  was  that 
he  would  slip  down  and  fall  off,  and  then  that  the  priests 
would  think  that  she  had  done  it.  She  hecame  so  nerv- 
ous, that,  as  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  body,  it  seemed 
to  her  to  slip,  slip,  slip,  till  at  last  she  made  sure  the  little 
man  was  coming  down  altogether,  and  going  to  the  sac- 
risty door,  she  rang  the  hell  violently,  and  entreated  to 
he  let  out  of  the  church. 

"  Mrs.  Goldsmid  says  that  the  Pope,  Pius  IX.,  cannot 
stoj)  spitting  even  when  he  is  in  the  act  of  celebrating 
ma^s.  .  .  .  Being  very  jocose  himself,  lie  likes  others  to 
be  familiar  enough  to  amuse  him.  The  other  day  a  friend 
asked  Monsignor  de  Merode  why  the  Pope  was  so  fond 
of  him:  he  said  it  was  because,  when  he  saw  the  Pope 
in  a  lit  of  melancholy,  he  always  cut  a  joke  and  made  him 
laugh,  instead  of  condoling  with  him. 

"The  Pope  is  always  thoroughly  entertained  at  the 
stories  which  are  circulated  as  to  his  '  evil  eye '  and  its 
effects,  as  well  as  those  about  the  '  evil  eye '  of  the  excel- 
lent and  strikingly  handsome  Monsignor  Prosperi.  When 
the  lire  occurred  in  the  Bocca  di  Leone,  and  the  Pope 
was  told  of  it,  he  said.  'How  very  extraordinary,  for 
Monsignor  Prosperi  was  out  of  Rome,  and  I  was  not 
there.' 

"When  the  Pope,  who  does  not  speak  good  French,  was 
talking  of  Pusey,  he  said,  '  Je  le  compare  a  une  cloche, 
qui  sonne,  pour  appeler  les  fideles  a  l'eglise,  mais  qui 
n'entre  jamais.' 

"  I  think  there  can  scarcely  be  any  set  of  men  whose 
individuality  is  more  marked  than  the  present  Cardinals. 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES    AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     269 

.  .  .  Antonelli's  manner  in  carrying  the  chalice  in  St. 
Peter's  is  reverent  in  the  extreme.  Cardinal  Ugolini,  who 
is  almost  always  with  the  Pope,  never  fails  to  ruffle  up  his 
hair  in  walking  down  St.  Peter's  or  the  Sistine." 

"  Christmas  Day.  The  Pope  heard  of  the  death  of  his 
sister,  an  abbess,  this  morning,  just  as  he  was  going  to  be 
carried  into  St.  Peter's,  but  the  procession  and  the  chair 
were  waiting,  and  he  was  obliged  to  go.  The  poor  old 
man  looked  deadly  white  as  he  was  carried  down  the  nave, 
and  no  wonder." 

"January  15,  1866.  Went,  by  appointment,  with  Mrs. 
Goldsmid  to  the  Church  of  SS.  Marcellino  e  Pietro  —  the 
church  with  a  roof  like  that  of  a  Chinese  pagoda,  in  the 
little  valley  beneath  St.  John  Lateran.  Inside  it  is  a  large 
Greek  cross,  and  very  handsome,  with  marbles,  &c.  The 
party  collected  slowly,  Mrs.  De  Selby  and  her  daughter, 
Mrs.  Alfred  Montgomery,  Madame  Sainte  Aldegonde,  the 
Bedingfields,  a  French  Abbe,  Mrs.  Dawkins,  and  our- 
selves. Soon  a  small  window  shutter  was  opened  to  the 
left  of  the  altar,  and  disclosed  a  double  grille  of  iron, 
beyond  which  was  a  small  room  in  the  interior  of  the 
monastery.  In  the  room,  but  close  to  the  grille,  and 
standing  sideways,  with  lighted  candles  in  front  of  it, 
was  a  very  beautiful  picture  of  the  Crucifixion.  It  was 
much  smaller  than  life,  and  seemed  to  be  a  copy  of 
Guido's  picture  in  the  Lucina.  The  figure  hung  alone 
on  the  cross  in  the  midst  of  a  dark  wind-stricken  plain, 
and  behind  it  the  black  storm  clouds  were  driving  through 
the  sky,  and  beating  the  trees  towards  the  ground.  As 
you  looked  fixedly  at  the  face,  the  feeling  of  its  intense 
suffering  and  its  touching  patience  seemed  to  take  posses- 
sion of  you  and  fill  you.  We  all  knelt  in  front  of  it,  and 
I  never  took  my  eyes  from  it.  Very  soon  Mrs.  Goldsmid 
said,  '  I  begin  to  see  something ;  do  you  not  see  the  pupils 


270  THE    STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

of  its  eves  dilate  ? '  Mrs.  Montgomery,  in  an  ecstasy,  soon 
after  said,  *  Oh,  I  see  it:  how  wonderful!  what  a  blessing 
vouchsafed  to  us!  See,  it  moves!  it  moves!'  -Mrs.  De 
Selby,  who  is  always  sternlj    matter-of-fact,  and  who  had 

been  looking  fixedly  at  it  hitherto,  on  this  turned  con- 
temptuously  away  and  said,  'What  nonsense!  it  is  a  com- 
plete delusion:  you  delude  yourselves  into  anything;  the 
picture  is  perfectly  still.'  Mrs.  Dawkins  now  declared 
that  she  distinctly  saw  the  eyes  move.  Lady  Bedinglield 
would  not  commit  herself  to  any  opinion.  The  French 
AM>e  saw  nothing. 

••  Meanwhile  Madame  Ste.  Aldegonde  had  fallen  into 
a.  rapture,  and  with  elasped  hands  was  returning  thanks 
for  tin-  privilege  vouchsafed  to  her.  'Oh  mon  Dieu!  mon 
Dieu!  quelle  grace!  quelle  grace!'  Shortly  after  this 
the  French  Abbe*  saw  it  also.  'II  n'y  a  pas  le  moindre 
doute,'  he  said;  'il  bouge  les  yeux,  mais  le  voila,  le  voila.' 
They  all  now  began  to  distress  themselves  about  Mrs.  De 
Selby.  'Surely  you  must  see  something?  they  said;  'it 
is  impossible  that  you  should  see  nothing?  But  Mrs.  De 
Selby  continued  stubbornly  to  declare  that  she  saw  noth- 
ing. While  Madame  Ste.  Aldegonde  was  exclaiming,  and 
when  the  scene  was  at  its  height,  I  could  fancy  that  I  saw 
something  like  a  scintillation,  a  speculation,  in  one  of  the 
eves  of  the  Crucified  One,  but  I  could  not  be  certain.  As 
we  left  the  church,  the  other  ladies  said,  apropos  of  Mrs. 
De  Selby,  'Well,  you  know,  after  all,  it  is  not  a  thing  we 
are  obliged  to  believe,'  and  one  of  them,  turning  to  her, 
added  consolingly,  'And  you  know  you  did  see  a  miracle 
at   Vicovaro.' 

"  Mrs.  Goldsmid  declared  that  she  was  so  shocked  at  my 
want  of  faith,  that  she  should  take  me  immediately  to  the 
Sepolti  Vivi,  to  request  the  prayers  of  the  abbess  there. 
So  we  drove  thither  at  once.  The  convent  is  most  care- 
fully concealed.  Opposite  the  Church  of  S.  Maria  del 
Monte,  a  little  recess  in  the  street,  which  looks  like  a  cut 


1 866 i     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     271 

de  sac,  runs  up  to  one  of  those  large  street  shrines  with  a 
picture,  so  common  in  Naples,  but  of  which  there  are  very 
few  at  Rome.  When  you  get  up  to  the  picture,  you  find 
the  cut  de  sac  is  an  illusion.  In  the  left  of  the  shrine  a 
staircase  in  the  wall  leads  you  up  round  the  Avails  of  the 
adjoining  house  to  a  platform  on  the  roof.  Here  you  are 
surrounded  by  heavy  doors,  all  strongly  barred  and  bolted. 
In  the  wall  there  projects  what  looks  like  a  small  green 
barrel.  Mrs.  Goldsmid  stooped  down  and  rapped  loudly 
on  the  barrel.  This  she  continued  to  do  for  some  time. 
At  last  a  faint  muffled  voice  was  heard  issuing  from  behind 
the  barrel,  and  demanding  what  was  wanted.  '  I  am 
Margaret  Goldsmid, '  said  our  companion,  k  and  I  want  to 
speak  to  the  abbess. '  — k  Speak  again, '  said  the  strange 
voice,  and  again  Mrs.  G.  declared  that  she  was  Margaret 
Goldsmid.  Then  the  invisible  nun  recognised  the  voice, 
and  very  slowly,  to  my  great  surprise,  the  green  barrel 
began  to  move.  Round  and  round  it  went,  till  at  last  in 
its  innermost  recesses  was  disclosed  a  key.  Mrs.  Goldsmid 
knew  the  meaning  of  this,  and  taking  the  key,  led  us 
round  to  a  small  postern  door,  which  she  unlocked,  and 
we  entered  a  small  courtyard.  Beyond  this,  other  doors 
opened  in  a  similar  manner,  till  we  reached  a  small  white- 
washed room.  Over  the  door  was  an  inscription  bidding 
those  who  entered  that  chamber  to  leave  all  worldly 
thoughts  behind  them.  Round  the  walls  of  the  room 
Avere  inscribed :  '  Qui  non  diligit,  manet  in  morte  '  — 
Militia  est  vita  hominis  super  terrain '  — -k  Alter  alterius 
onera  portate, '  and  on  the  side  opposite  the  door  — 

'  Vi  esorto  a  rimirar 

La  vita  del  mondo 
Nella  guisa  che  il  mira 
Un  moribondo.' 

Immediately  beneath  this  inscription  was  a  double  grille, 
and  beyond  it  what  looked  at  first  like  pitch  darkness,  but 


272  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1866 

what  was  afterwards  shown  to  be  a  thick  plate  of  iron, 
pierced,  like  the  rose  of  a  watering-pot,  with  small  round 
holes,  through  which  the  voice  might  penetrate.  Behind 
this  plate  of  iron  the  abbess  of  the  Sepolti  Vivi  receives 
her  visitors.  She  is  even  then  veiled  from  head  to  foot, 
and  folds  of  thick  serge  fell  over  her  face.  Pope  Gregory 
XVI.,  who  of  course  could  penetrate  within  the  convent, 
once  wishing  to  try  her  faith,  said  to  her,  '  Sorella  mia, 
levate  il  velo.'  — '  No,  mio  Padre,'  replied  the  abbess,  '  e 
vietato  dalle  regole  del  nostra  ordine. ' 

"Mrs.  Goldsmid  said  to  the  abbess  that  she  had  brought 
with  her  two  heretics,  one  in  a  state  of  partial  grace,  the 
other  in  a  state  of  blind  and  outer  darkness,  that  she 
might  request  her  prayers  and  those  of  her  sisterhood. 
The  heretic  in  partial  grace  was  Mrs.  Dawkins,  the  heretic 
in  blind  darkness  was  myself.  Then  came  back  the 
muffled  voice  of  the  abbess,  as  if  from  another  world, 
'  liisogna  essere  convertiti,  perche  ci  si  sta  poco  in  questo 
mondo:  bisogna  avere  le  lampane  accese,  perche  11011  si  sa 
1'  ora  quando  il  Signore  chiamera,  ma  bisogna  che  le 
lampane  siano  accese  coll'  olio  della  vera  fede,  e  se  ve  ne 
manca  un  solo  articolo,  se  ne  manca  il  tutto.'  There  was 
much  more  that  she  said,  but  it  was  all  in  the  same  strain. 
When  she  said,  '  Se  ve  ne  manca  un  solo  articolo,  se  ne 
manca  il  tutto,'  Mrs.  Goldsmid  was  very  much  displeased, 
because  she  had  constantly  tried  to  persuade  Mrs.  Dawkins 
that  it  was  not  necessary  to  receive  all,  and  the  abbess  had 
unconsciously  interfered  with  the  whole  line  of  her  argu- 
ment. Afterwards  we  asked  the  abbess  about  her  convent. 
They  were  '  Farnesiani, '  she  said ;  '  Sepolti  Vivi '  was  only 
'  un  nome  popolare ; '  but  she  did  not  know  why  they  were 
called  Farnesiani,  or  who  founded  their  order.  She  said 
the  nuns  did  not  dig  their  graves  every  day,  that  also  was 
only  a  popular  story.  When  they  died,  she  said,  they 
only  enjoyed  their  graves  a  short  time,  like  the  Cappuccini 
(a  year,    1  think),  and  then,  if   their  bodies  were  whole 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     273 

when  they  were  dug  up,  they  were  preserved:  but  if  their 
limbs  had  separated,  they  were  thrown  away.  She  said 
the  nuns  could  speak  to  their  '  parenti  stretti '  four  times  a 
year,  but  when  I  asked  if  they  ever  saw  them,  she  laughed 
in  tits  at  the  very  idea,  '  ma  perche  bisogna  vederli  ? ' 
Mrs.  Goldsmid  was  once  inside  the  convent,  but  could  not 
get  an  order  this  year,  because,  when  it  had  been  counter- 
signed by  all  the  other  authorities,  old  Cardinal  Patrizi 
remembered  that  she  had  been  in  before,  and  withdrew  it. 
"  I  heard  afterwards  that  generally  when  the  crucifixion 
at  S.  Marcellino  is  shown,  a  nun  of  S.  Teresa,  with  her 
face  covered,  and  robed  from  head  to  foot  in  a  long  blue 
veil,  stands  by  it  immovable,  like  a  pillar  the  whole 
time." 

''''January  27.  Gibson  the  sculptor  died  this  morning. 
He  was  first  taken  ill  while  calling  on  Mrs.  Caldwell. 
She  saw  that  he  could  not  speak,  and,  making  him  lie 
down,  brought  water  and  restoratives.  He  grew  better 
and  insisted  on  walking  home.  She  wished  to  send  for  a 
carriage,  but  he  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  he  was  able  to 
walk  home  perfectly.  That  evening  a  paralytic  seizure 
came.  Ever  since,  for  nineteen  days  and  nights,  Miss 
Dowdeswell  had  nursed  him.  He  will  be  a  great  loss  to 
Miss  Hosmer  (the  sculptress),  whom  he  regarded  as  a 
daughter.  They  used  to  dine  together  with  old  Mr.  Hay 
every  Saturday.  It  was  an  institution.  Mr.  Gibson  was 
writing  his  memoirs  then,  and  he  used  to  take  what  he 
had  written  and  read  it  aloud  to  Mr.  Hay  on  the  Saturday 
evenings.  Mr.  Hay  also  dictated  memoirs  of  his  own  life 
to  Miss  Hosmer,  and  she  wrote  them  down." 

"January  29.  I  had  a  paper  last  night  begging  me 
to  be  present  at  a  meeting  about  Gibson's  funeral,  but  I 
could  not  go.  The  greater  part  of  his  friends  wished  for 
a  regular  funeral  procession  on  foot  through  the  streets, 

VOL.  II.  — 18 


274  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

bill  this  was  overruled  by  Colonel  Caldwell  and  others. 
A  guard  of  honour,  offered  by  the  French  general,  was 
however  accepted.  The  body  lay  for  some  hours  in  the 
little  chapel  at  the  cemetery,  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour  fixed  upon  the  coffin.  It  was  brought  to  the 
grave  with  muffled  drums,  all  the  artists  following.  Many 
ladies  who  had  known  and  loved  him  were  crying  bitterly, 
and  there  was  an  immense  attendance  of  men.  The  day 
he  fore  he  died  there  was  a  temporary  rally,  and  those  with 
him  hoped  for  his  life.  It  was  during  this  time  that  the 
telegraph  of  inquiry  from  the  Queen  came,  and  Gibson 
was  able  to  receive  pleasure  from  it,  and  held  it  in  his 
hand  for  an  hour. 

"Gibson  — '  Don  Giovanni,'  as  his  friends  called  him 
—  had  a  quaint  dry  humour  which  was  all  his  own.  He 
used  to  tell  how  a  famous  art-critic,  whose  name  must  not 
be  mentioned,  came  to  his  studio  to  visit  his  newly -born 
statue  of  Bacchus.  '  Now  pray  criticise  it  as  much  as  yon 
like,'  said  the  great  sculptor.  '  Well,  since  you  ask  me 
to  find  fault,'  said  the  critic,  lI  think  perhaps  there  is 
something  not  quite  right  about  the  left  leg.' — '  About 
the  leg!  that  is  rather  a  wide  expression,'  said  Gibson; 
'  but  about  what  part  of  the  leg?  '  — *  Well,  just  here,  about 
the  bone  of  the  leg.'  — '  Well,'  said  Gibson,  k  I  am  relieved 
thai  that  is  the  fault  you  have  to  find,  for  the  bone  of  the 
leg  is  on  the  other  side!  ' 

"Gibson  used  to  relate  with  great  gusto  something 
which  happened  to  him  when  he  was  travelling  by  dili- 
gence before  the  time  of  railways.  He  had  got  as  far  as 
the  Mont  Cenis,  and,  while  crossing  it,  entered  into  con- 
versation with  his  fellow-traveller  —  an  Englishman,  not 
an  American.  Gibson  asked  where  he  had  been,  and  he 
mentioned  several  places,  and  then  said,  '  There  was  one 
town  I  saw  which  I  thought  curious,  the  name  of  which  I 
cannot  for  the  life  of  me  remember,  but  I  know  it  began 
with  an  R.'  — '  Was  it  Ronciglione, '  said  Gibson,  '  or  per- 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     275 

haps  Radicofani  ? '  thinking  of  all  the  unimportant  places 
beginning  with  R.  '  No,  no;  it  was  a  much  shorter  name 
—  a  one-syllable  name.  I  remember  we  entered  it  by  a 
gate  near  a  very  big  church  with  lots  of  pillars  in  front  of 
it,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  square  with  two  fountains.'  — 
'  You  cannot  possibly  mean  Rome  ? '  — '  Oh  yes,  Rome  — 
that  ivas  the  name  of  the  place.'  ' 

"February  4.  I  spent  yesterday  evening  with  the  Henry 
Feildens.1  Mrs.  Fielden  told  me  that  in  her  girlhood  her 
family  went  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  and  rented  St.  Boniface 
House,  between  Bonchurch  and  Ventnor.  She  slept  in  a 
room  on  the  first  floor  with  her  sister  Ghita :  the  French 
governess  and  her  sister  Cha  slept  in  the  next  room,  the 
English  governess  above.  If  they  talked  in  bed  they  were 
always  punished  by  the  English  governess,  who  could  not 
bear  them;  so  they  never  spoke  except  in  a  whisper. 
One  night,  when  they  were  in  bed,  with  the  curtains 
closely  drawn,  the  door  was  suddenly  burst  open  with  a 
bang,  and  something  rushed  into  the  room  and  began  to 
whisk  about  in  it,  making  great  draught  and  disturbance. 
They  were  not  frightened,  but  •  very  angry,  thinking  some 
one  was  playing  them  a  trick.  But  immediately  the  curtains 
were  drawn  aside  and  whisked  up  over  their  heads,  and 
one  by  one  all  the  bed-clothes  were  dragged  away  from 
them,  though  when  they  stretched  out  their  hands  they 
could  feel  nothing.  First  the  counterpane  went,  then  the 
blankets,  then  the  sheet,  then  the  pillows,  and  lastly  the 
lower  sheet  was  drawn  away  from  under  them.  When 
it  came  to  this  she  (Ellinor  Hornby)  exclaimed,  k  I  can 
bear  this  no  longer, '  and  she  and  her  sister  both  jumped 
out   of  bed  at  the  foot,   which  was  the  side  nearest  the 

1  The  Rev.  Henry  Arbuthnot  Feilden  married  Ellinor,  one  of  the 
daughters  of  Edmund  Hornby,  Esq.,  of  Dalton  Hall  in  Lancashire  — 
a  very  old  friend  and  connection  of  our  family.  Her  sister  Charlotte 
afterwards  married  my  first  cousin  —  Oswald  Penrhyn. 


•J 7 1')  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [I860 

door.  As  they  jumped  out,  they  felt  the  mattress  graze 
against  their  Legs,  as  it  also  was  dragged  off  the  bed. 
Ghita  Hornby  rushed  into  the  next  room  to  call  the 
French  governess,  while  Ellinor  screamed  for  assistance, 
holding  the  door  of  their  room  tightly  on  the  outside,  fully 
believing  that  somebody  would  be  found  in  the  room. 
The  English  governess  and  the  servants,  roused  by  the 
noise,  now  rushed  downstairs,  and  the  door  was  opened. 
The  room  was  perfectly  still  and  there  Mas  no  one  there. 
It  was  all  tidied.  The  curtains  were  carefully  rolled,  and 
tied  up  above  the  head  of  the  bed:  the  sheets  and  counter- 
pane were  neatly  folded  tip  in  squares  and  laid  in  the 
three  corners  of  the  room:  the  mattress  was  reared  against 
the  wall  under  the  window:  the  blanket  was  in  the  fire- 
place. Both  the  governesses  protested  that  the  girls  must 
have  done  it  themselves  in  their  sleep,  but  nothing  would 
induce  them  to  return  to  the  room,  and  they  were  surprised 
the  next  morning,  when  they  expected  a  scolding  from 
their  mother,  to  find  that  she  quietly  assented  to  the  room 
being  shut  up.  Many  years  after  Mrs.  Hornby  met  the 
lady  to  whom  the  property  belonged,  and  after  questioning 
her  about  what  had  happened  to  her  family,  the  lady  told 
her  that  the  same  thing  had  often  happened  to  others,  and 
that  the  house  was  now  shut  up  and  could  never  be  let, 
because  it  was  haunted.  A  murder  by  a  lady  of  her  child 
was  committed  in  that  room,  and  she  occasionally  appeared; 
but  more  frequently  only  the  noise  and  movement  of  the 
furniture  occurred,  and  sometimes  that  took  place  in  the 
adjoining  loom  also.  St.  Boniface  House  is  mentioned  as 
haunted  in  the  guide-books  of  the  Isle  of  Wight." 

11  Feb.  12.  Went  in  the  morning  with  the  Feildens  to 
S.  Maria  in  Monticelli  —  a  small  church  near  the  Ghetto. 
The  church  is  not  generally  open,  and  we  had  to  ring  at 
the  door  of  the  priest's  lodgings  to  get  in:  he  let  us  into 
the  church  by  a  private  passage.     In  the  right  aisle  is  the 


1866]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     277 

famous  picture  over  an  altar.  It  is  a  Christ  with  the  eyes 
almost  closed,  weighed  down  by  pain  and  sorrow.  The 
Feildens  knelt  before  it,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  they 
both  declared  that  they  saw  its  eyes  open  and  close  again. 
From  the  front  of  the  picture  and  on  the  right  side  of  it, 
though  I  looked  fixedly  at  it,  I  could  see  nothing,  but 
after  I  had  looked  for  a  long  time  from  the  left  side,  I 
seemed  to  see  the  eyes  languidly  close  altogether,  as  if 
the  figure  were  sinking  unconsciously  into  a  fast  sleep. 

"In  the  case  of  this  picture,  Pope  Pius  IX.  has  turned 
Protestant,  and,  disapproving  of  the  notice  it  attracted, 
after  it  was  first  observed  to  move  its  eyes  in  1859,  he 
had  it  privately  removed  from  the  church,  and  it  Avas  kept 
shut  up  for  some  years.  Two  years  ago  it  was  supposed 
that  people  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  it  was  quietly 
brought  back  to  the  church  in  the  night.  It  has  frequently 
been  seen  to  move  the  eyes  since,  but  it  has  not  been 
generally  shown.  The  sacristan  said  it  was  a  '  regalo ' 
made  to  the  church  at  its  foundation,  and  none  knew  who 
the  artist  was. 

"In  the  afternoon  I  was  in  St.  Peter's  with  Miss 
Buchanan  when  the  famous  Brother  Ignatius l  came  in. 
He  led  '  the  Infant  Samuel '  by  the  hand,  and  a  lay  brother 
followed.  He  has  come  to  Rome  for  his  health,  and  has 
brought  with  him  a  sister  (Sister  Ambrogia)  and  the  lay 
brother,  to  wash  and  look  after  the  Infant  Samuel.  He 
found  the  '  Infant '  as  a  baby  on  the  altar  at  Norwich,  and 
vowed  him  at  once  to  the  service  of  the  Temple,  dressed 
him  in  a  little  habit,  and  determined  that  he  should  never 
speak  to  a  woman  as  long  as  he  lived.  The  last  is 
extremely  hard  upon  Sister  Ambrogia,  who  does  not  go 
sight-seeing  with  her  companions,  and  having  a  very  dull 
time   of  it,  would  be  exceedingly  glad  to  play  with  the 

1  Mr.  Leycester  Lyne.  celebrated  as  a  preacher  and  for  his  follies  in 
playing  at  monasticism.  His  mother  was  a  Leycester  of  White  Place, 
descended  from  a  younger  branch  of  the  Leycesters  of  Toft. 


/ 


278  THE    STOKY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

little   rosy-cheeked   creature.     The   Infant    is    now   four 

years  old,  and  is  dressed  in  a  white  frock  and  cowl  like  a 
little  Carthusian,  and  went  pattering  along  the  church  in 
the  funniest  way  by  the  side  of  the  stately  Brother 
[gnatius.  He  held  the  Infant  up  in  his  arms  to  kiss  St. 
Peter's  toe,  and  then  rubbed  its  forehead  against  his  foot, 
and  did  the  same  for  himself,  and  then  they  both  prostrated 
themselves  before  the  principal  shrine,  with  the  lay  brother 
behind  them,  and  afterwards  at  the  side  altars,  the  Infant 
of  course  exciting  great  attention  and  amusement  amongst 
the  canons  and  priests  of  the  church.  A  lady  acquaintance 
of  ours  went  to  see  Brother  Ignatius  and  begged  to  talk 
to  the  Infant.  This  was  declared  to  he  impossible,  the 
Infant  was  never  to  he  allowed  to  speak  to  a  woman,  but 
she  might  be  in  the  same  room  with  the  Infant  if  she 
pleased,  and  Brother  Ignatius  would  then  himself  put  any 
questions  she  wished.  She  asked  who  its  father  and 
mother  were,  and  the  Infant  replied,  k  I  am  the  child  of 
Jesus  Christ  and  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  of  the  holy  St. 
Benedict'  She  then  asked  if  it  liked  being  at  Rome, 
*  Yes,*  it  said,  '  I  like  being  at  Rome,  for  it  is  the  city  of 
the  holy  saints  and  martyrs  and  of  the  blessed  Apostles 
Peter  and  Paul.'  When  we  saw  the  party,  they  were  just 
come  from  the  Pope,  who  told  Brother  Ignatius  to  remem- 
ber that  a  habit  could  not  make  a  monk. 

"Miss  Dowdeswell  has  been  to  see  us.  and  given  us  a 
terrible  account  of  the  misapplication  of  the  I  Ionian  chari- 
ties. She  says  the  people  would  rather  beg,  or  even  really 
die  of  want,  than  go  into  most  of  the  institutions  —  that 
the  so-called  soup  is  little  more  than  water,  and  that  the 
inmates  are  really  starved,  besides  which  the  dirt  and 
vermin  are  quite  disgusting.  The  best  hospital  is  that 
of  the  '  Ruoni  Fratelli,'  where  the  people  who  obtain 
entrance  are  kindly  treated,  but  it  is  exceedingly  difficult 
to  get  admittance,  and  the  hospital  authorities  will  always 
say  it    is   full,    scarcely  ever  taking    in   more    than    nine 


1866]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     279 

patients,  though  there  is  accommodation  for  thirty,  and 
each  person  admitted  has  to  pay  ten  scudi.  At  S.  Michele, 
which  is  enormously  endowed,  and  which  professes  to  be 
free,  the  patient  is  not  only  compelled  to  have  a  complete 
outfit  of  bedding  and  everything  else  she  requires,  but 
must  pay  three  scudi  a  month  for  her  maintenance  as  long 
as  she  remains,  yet  for  this  will  not  have  what  she  could 
procure  for  the  same  sum  elsewhere." 

"Feb.  15.  Went  with  the  Eyres  to  Benzoni's  studio. 
Amongst  many  other  statues  was  a  fine  group  of  a  vener- 
able old  man  raising  a  little  half-naked  boy  out  of  a  gutter. 
'  Ecco  il  mio  benefattore, '  said  Benzoni.  It  was  the 
likeness  of  Conte  Luigi  Taddini  of  Crema,  who  first  recog- 
nised the  genius  of  Benzoni  when  making  clay  images  in 
the  puddles  by  the  wayside,  and  sent  him  to  Rome  at  his 
own  expense  for  education.  Count  Taddini  died  six  years 
after,  but,  in  the  height  of  his  fame,  Benzoni  has  made 
this  group  as  a  voluntary  thank-offering  and  presented  it 
to  the  family  of  his  benefactor  in  Crema.  He  was  only 
twelve  years  old  when  adopted  by  Taddini. 

"  A  curious  instance  of  presentiment  happened  yesterday. 
Some  charitable  ladies,  especially  Mrs.  McClintock,1  had 
been  getting  up  a  raffle  for  a  picture  of  the  poor  artist 
Coleman,  whom  they  believed  to  be  starving.  The  tickets 
cost  five  scudi  apiece,  and  were  drawn  yesterday.  Just  at 
the  last  moment  Mrs.  Keppel,  at  the  Pension  Anglaise, 
had  a  presentiment  that  77  would  be  the  lucky  number, 
and  she  sent  to  tell  Mrs.  McClintock  that  if  she  could 
have  77  she  would  take  it,  but  if  not,  she  would  not  take 
any  number  at  all.  Seventy-seven  happened  to  be  Mrs. 
McClintock's  own  number.  However,  she  said  that 
rather  than  Mrs.  Keppel  should  take  none,  she  would  give 
it  up  to  her  and  take  another.  Mrs.  Keppel  took  77  and 
she  got  the  picture." 

1  Afterwards  Lady  Rathdonell. 


2SU  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

"Feb.  24,  1866.  The  other  day  little  Nicole  Dolgorouki 
came  in  to  dinner  with  a  pencil  in  his  hand.  The  Princess 
said.  '  Little  boys  should  not  sit  at  dinner  with  pencils  in 
their  hands;'  upon  which  the  child  of  eight  years  old 
coolly  replied,  '  [/artiste  ne  quitte  jamais  son  crayon.' 

"  When  the  Mother  and  Lea  were  both  ill  last  week,  our 
Italian  servants  Clementina  and  (her  daughter)  Louisa 
groaned  incessantly;  and  when  Clementina  was  taken  ill 
on  the  following  night,  Louisa  gave  up  all  hope  at  once, 
and  sent  for  her  other  children  to  take  leave  of  her.  This 
depression  of  spirits  has  gone  on  ever  since  Christmas,  and 
it  turns  out  now  that  they  think  a  terrible  omen  has  come 
to  the  house.  No  omen  is  worse  than  an  upset  of  oil,  hut, 
if  this  occurs  on  Christmas  Eve  it  is  absolutely  fatal,  and 
on  Christmas  Eve  my  mother  upset  her  little  table  with 
the  great  moderator  Lamp  upon  it.  The  oil  was  spilt  all 
over  her  gown  and  the  lamp  broken  to  pieces  on  the  floor, 
with  great  cries  of  k  ( )  santissimo  diavolo  ! '  from  the  ser- 
vants.  'Only  one  thing  can  save  us  now. '  says  Louisa  : 
'  if  Providence  would  mercifully  permit  that  some  one 
should  break  a  bottle  of  wine  here  by  accident,  that  would 
bring  back  luck  to  the  house,  but  nothing  else  can.' 

"The  Borgheses  have  had  a  magnificent  fancy  ball. 
Young  Bolognetti  Cenci  borrowed  the  armour  of  Julius 
II.  from  the  Pope  for  the  occasion,  and  young  Corsini  that 
of  Cardinal  de  Bourbon.  The  Duchess  Fiano  went  in  the 
costume  of  the  first  Empire,  terribly  improper  in  these 
days,  and  another  lady  went  as  a  nymph  just  emerged  from 
a  fountain,  and  naturally  clothed  as  little  as  possible.  The 
Princess  Borghese1  was  dreadfully  shocked,  but  she  only 
said,'Ifear,  Madame,  that  you  must  lie  feeling  horribly  cold. : 

"When  the  French  ambassador  sent  to  the  Pope  to 
desire  that  he  would  send  away  the  Court  of  Naples, 
the    Pope   said  he  must  decline  to  give  up  the   parental 

1  Therese   de    la    Ptochefoucauld,    wife   of    Prince    Marc-Antonio 


Boi  .u 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     281 

prerogative  which  had  always  belonged  to  the  Popes,  of 
giving  shelter  to  unfortunate  princes  of  other  nations,  of 
whatever  degree  or  nation  they  might  be,  and  k  of  this, '  he 
added  pointedly,  '  the  Bonapartes  are  a  striking  example. ' 
The  French  ambassador  had  the  bad  taste  to  go  on  to  the 
Palazzo  Farnese,  and,  after  condoling  with  the  King  of 
Naples  2  upon  what  he  had  heard  of  his  great  poverty,  said, 
'  If  your  Majesty  would  engage  at  once  to  leave  Rome,  I 
on  my  part  would  promise  to  do  my  best  endeavours  with 
my  Government  to  obtain  the  restoration  of  at  least  a  part 
of  your  Majesty's  fortune. '  The  King  coldly  replied,  '  Sir, 
I  have  heard  that  in  all  ages  great  and  good  men  have  ended 
their  days  in  obscurity  and  poverty,  and  it  can  be  no  source 
of  dread  to  me  that  I  may  be  numbered  amongst  them. ' 

"  The  Queen-mother  of  Naples  2  is  still  very  rich,  but  is 
now  a  mere  nurse  to  her  large  family,  with  some  of  whom 
she  is  to  be  seen  —  '  gran  bel  pezzo  di  donna  '  —  driving 
every  day.  When  the  King  returned  from  Caieta,  she 
was  still  at  the  Quirinal,  and  went  down  to  the  Piazza 
Monte  Cavallo  to  receive  him;  but  with  him  and  the 
Queen  came  her  own  eldest  son,  and,  before  noticing  her 
sovereign,  she  rushed  to  embrace  her  child,  saying, 
'  Adesso,   son  pagata  a  tutto. ' 

"  One  sees  the  Queen  of  Naples  3  daily  walking  with  her 
sister  Countess  Trani4  near  the  Porta  Angelica,  or  thread- 
ing the  carriages  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  where  the  coach- 
men never  take  off  their  hats,  and  even  crack  their  whips 
as  she  passes.  She  wears  a  straw  hat,  a  plain  violet 
linsey-woolsey  dress,  and  generally  leads  a  large  deerhound 
by  a  string.     She  is  perfectly  lovely. 

"The  great  Mother,  Maria  de  Matthias, 5  has  lately  come 

1  Francesco  II. 

2  Marie  Therese  Isabelle,  daughter  of  Archduke  Charles  of  Austria. 

3  Marie,  daughter  of  Duke  Maximilian  of  Bavaria. 

4  Princess  Mathilde  of  Bavaria. 

5  Foundress  of  the  Order  of  the  Precious  Blood. 


282  THE  STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [18GG 

down  from  her  mountains  of  Acuto  to  visit  my  sister,  who 
has  arrived  in  Rome,  and  the  confessor  of  the  Venerable 
Anna  Maria  Taigi  has  also  visited  her.  I  have  read  the 
life  of  this  saint,  and  have  never  found  out  any  possible 
excuse  lor  her  being  canonised,  unless  that  she  married  her 
husband  because  he  was  a  good  man,  though  he  was 
'  ruvido  di  maniere  e  grossolano.' 

"At  dinner  at  Mr.  Brooke's,  I  met  the  quaint  and 
clever  Mrs.  Payne,  Madame  d'Arblay's  niece.  She  said 
that  England  had  an  honest  bad  climate  and  Rome  a  dis- 
honest  good  one. 

"  Count  Bolognetti  Cenci  is  marvellously  handsome,  face 
and  figure  alike  perfect.  Some  people  maintain  that  Don 
Onorato  Caie'tani  is  equally  handsome.  He  has  the  ex- 
traordinary plume  of  white  hair  which  is  hereditary  in  the 
Caietani  family.  His  father,  the  Duke  of  Sermoneta,  said 
the  other  day  with  some  pardonable  pride,  '  Our  ancestors 
were  reigning  sovereigns  (in  Tuscany)  long  before  the 
Pope  had  any  temporal  power.' 

"We  have  been  to  the  Villa  Doria  to  pick  'Widowed 
Iris,"  which  the  Italians  call  fci  tre  chiodi  del  Nostro 
Signore,' — the  three  nails  of  our  Saviour's  cross. 

"My  sister  declares  that  when  Madame  Barrere,  late 
superior  of  the  Order  of  the  Sacre*  Coeur,  was  in  her  great 
old  age,  a  Catholic  lady  who  was  married  to  a  Protestant 
came  to  her  and  implored  her  to  promise  that,  as  soon  as 
she  entered  heaven,  her  first  petition  should  he  for  her 
husband  that  he  might  be  a  Catholic.  Soon  after  this  the 
Protestant  husband  was  taken  alarmingly  ill,  but  gave  his 
wife  no  hope  that  he  would  change  his  religion;  yet,  to 
her  great  surprise,  when  he  was  dying  he  bade  her  send 
for  a  priest.  She  considered  this  at  first  as  a  result  of 
delirium,  but  he  insisted  upon  the  priest  coming,  and, 
rallying  soon  after,  was  received  into  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church.  In  a  few  days  came  the  news  of  the  death  of 
Madame  Barrere,   and  on   inquiry  it  was   found  that  the 


1866]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     283 

moment  of  her  death  and  that  of  the  Protestant  sending 
for  the  priest  exactly  coincided." 

"March  13.  The  Roman  princes,  are  generally  enor- 
mously rich.  Tortonia  is  said  to  have  an  income  which 
gives  him  7000  scudi  (£1200)  a  day.  He  is  very  chari- 
table, and  gives  a  great  many  pensions  of  a  scudo  a  day  to 
poor  individuals  of  the  mezzoceto  class.  The  Chigis  used 
to  be  immensely  rich,  but  were  ruined  by  old  Princess 
Chigi,  who  gambled  away  everything  she  could  get  hold 
of.  When  one  of  her  sons  was  to  be  made  a  Monsignore, 
a  collection  was  arranged  amongst  the  friends  of  the  family 
to  pay  the  expenses,  but  they  imprudently  left  the  rouleaux 
of  money  on  the  chimney-piece,  where  the  old  Princess 
spied  them,  and  snapping  them  up,  yioccolare-d.  them  all 
away.  The  Massimi  are  rich,  but  the  old  Prince  1  is  very 
miserly.  The  other  day  he  told  his  cook  that  he  was 
going  to  give  a  supper,  but  that  it  must  not  cost  more 
than  fifteen  baiocchi  a  head,  and  that  he  must  give 
minestra.  The  cook  said  it  was  utterly  impossible,  but 
the  Prince  declared  he  did  not  care  in  the  least  about 
4  possible, '  only  it  must  be  done.  The  supper  came  off, 
and  the  guests  had  minestra.  The  next  day  the  Prince 
said  to  his  cook,  '  Well,  now,  you  see  }rou  could  do  it 
perfectly  well;  what  was  the  use  of  making  such  a  fuss 
about  it?'  The  cook  said  '  Yes,  I  did  it,  but  would  you 
like  to  know-where  I  got  the  bones  from  that  made  the 
soup  ? '  The  Prince  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said, 
'  Oh  no,  I  don't  want  in  the  least  to  know  about  that;  so 
long  as  you  do  your  suppers  for  my  price,  you  may  get 
your  bones  wherever  you  like.'  The  cook  told  his  friends 
afterwards  that  he  got  them  at  the  Immondezzajo! ' 

"March  Id.  Last  January  my  sister  wanted  to  engage 
a  new  maid.  The  mistress  of  a  famous  flower  shop  at 
Paris  recommended  her  present  maid,  '  Madame  Victorine, ' 

1  Prince  Camillo,  who  married  a  princess  of  Savoy-Carignan. 


284  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1SG6 

who  came  to  the  hotel  to  see  Esmeralda,  who  was  delighted 
with  her.  only  thinking  her  too  good  for  the  place.  The 
new  maid  only  made  two  stipulations:  one  was  that  she 
should  always  be  called  Madame  Victorine;  the  other, 
thai  she  should  not  he  expected  to  have  her  meals  with 
the  other  Servants.  My  sister  said  that  as  to  the  first 
stipulation,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  at  all;  that  she 
had  always  called  her  mother's  maid  '.Madame  Yictoire, ' 
and  that  she  could  have  no  objection  to  calling  her  Madame 
Victorine;  but  that  as  to  the  second  stipulation,  though 
she  insisted  upon  nothing,  and  though  Madame  Victorine 
would  be  perfectly  free  to  take  her  food  away  and  eat  it 
wherever  she  pleased,  yet  she  did  not  advise  her  to  make 
;inv  difficulty  of  this  kind,  as  they  were  going  to  Italy, 
where  the  servants  have  jealous  natures,  and  would  be 
peculiarly  liable  to  resent  anything  of  the  sort.  Upon  this 
Madame  Victorine  waived  her  second  stipulation. 

"Esmeralda  was  surprised,  when  Madame  Victorine 
came  to  her,  to  find  how  well  she  had  been  educated,  and 
little  traces  of  her  having  belonged  to  a  higher  position 
several  times  appeared  by  accident,  upon  which  occasions 
Madame  Victorine  would  colour  deeply  and  try  to  hide 
what  she  had  said.  Thus,  once  she  was  betrayed  into 
saving,  kI  managed  in  that  way  with  my  servants;'  and 
once  in  the  railway,  v  I  did  so  when  I  was  travelling  with 
my  son.'  My  sister  observed  not  only  that  ail  her  dresses 
were  of  the  best  silk  though  perfectly  plain,  but  that  all 
her  cuffs,  collars,  and  handkerchiefs  were  of  the  very  best 
and  finest  material.  But  the  oddest  circumstance  was, 
that  once  when  Esmeralda  was  going  to  seal  a  letter,  hav- 
ing no  seal  about  her,  she  asked  Madame  Victorine  if  she 
had  one.  Madame  Victorine  lent  her  one,  and  then, 
colouring  violently,  as  if  she  remembered  something,  tried 
to  snatch  it  away,  but  Esmeralda  had  already  pressed  it 
down,  and  saw  on  the  impression  a  coronet  and  a  cipher. 
When  my  sister  first  told   Madame  Victorine  that  she  was 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND    ROMAN   TRIALS     285 

too  good  for  the  place,  she  seemed  greatly  agitated  and 
exclaimed,  '  Oh  don't,  don't  change  your  mind,  do  take 
me:  I  will  consent  to  do  anything,   only  do  take  me.' 

"One  day  since  they  have  been  at  Palazzo  Parisani, 
Esmeralda  was  looking  for  something  amongst  her  music. 
'  You  will  find  it  in  such  an  opera, '  said  Madame 
Victorine.  'Why,  do  you  play  also?'  said  Esmeralda, 
much  surprised.  '  Yes, '  said  Madame  Victorine,  colour- 
ing deeply.  '  Then  will  you  play  to  me  ?  '  said  my  sister. 
'  Oh  no,  no, '  said  Madame  Victorine,  trembling  all  over. 
'  Then  I  hope  you  will  play  sometimes  when  I  am  out, ' 
said  Esmeralda,  and  this  Madame  Victorine  said  she  would 
do,  and  it  seemed  to  please  her  very  much."  x 

"March  26.  The  Santa  Croce  are  perhaps  really  the 
oldest  family  in  Rome.  They  claim  descent  from  Valerius 
Publicola,  and  the  spirit  of  his  life,  that  which  charac- 
terised '  the  good  house  that  loved  the  people  well, '  still 
remains  in  the  family.  The  other  day  Donna  Vincenza 
Santa  Croce  was  speaking  of  the  Trinita  de'  Monti,2  and 
the  system  of  education  there,  and  she  said,  '  I  do  so  dislike 
those  nuns:  they  are  so  worldly:  they  do  so  give  in  to 
rank,  for  when  a  girl  of  one  of  the  great  noble  houses  is 
there,  they  will  make  all  the  other  girls  stand  up  when  she 
comes  into  a  room!  But  this,  you  know,  is  not  right,  for 
it  is  only  goodness  and  talent,  not  rank,  that  ought  to 
make  people  esteemed  in  the  world.'  And  was  not  this 
the  spirit  of  Valerius  Publicola  speaking  through  his 
descendant?" 

1  The  mystery  of  Madame  Victorine  was  never  cleared  up.  In  the 
summer  of  1867  she  suddenly  expressed  a  wish  to  leave,  though  full 
of  gratitude  and  affection  for  my  sister,  and  she  implied  that  she  need 
no  longer  continue  in  service.  Probably  she  has  returned  into  the 
sphere  of  life  from  which  she  evidently  came.  She  called  herself 
Victorine  Errard. 

2  A  celebrated  convent  in  Rome,  where  the  French  nuns  have  a 
school,  which  is  very  popular. 


286  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

"March  27.  Last  Sunday  (Palm  Sunday)  was  the  last 
day  of  the  '  mission  '  which  the  Pope  had  appointed  in  the 
hope  of  warding  off  both  the  cholera  and  the  destruction 
of  his  own  power.  All  the  week  processions  had  paraded 
the  streets  and  monks  had  preached  in  the  piazzas,  rous- 
ing i li«'  feelings  of  the  people  in  behalf  of  the  Holy  Father, 
and  last  Sunday  it  all  came  to  a  close.  Giacinta,  'the 
Saint  of  St.  Peter's,'  came  to  tell  my  sister  about  the 
scene  at  Santo  Spirito,  where  she  was.  A  Passion  ist 
Father  took  a  real  crown  of  thorns  and  pressed  it  upon  his 
head  three  times,  till  the  thorns  sank  deep  into  the  flesh, 
and  the  blood  ran  in  streams  down  his  face  and  over  his 
dress.  The  people  cried  and  sobbed  convulsively,  and  were 
excited,  to  frenzy  when  he  afterwards  took  a  '  disciplina ' 
and  began  violently  to  scourge  himself  before  all  the  con- 
gregation. One  man  sobbed  and  screamed  so  violently 
that  he  was  dragged  out  by  the  carabinieri.  AVhilst  the 
feelings  of  the  people  were  thus  wrought  up,  the  father 
besought  and  commanded  them  to  deliver  up  all  books 
they  possessed  which  were  mentioned  in  the  Index,  tam- 
bourines and  things  used  in  dancing  the  saltarella,  and  all 
weapons,  — and  all  through  that  afternoon  they  kept  pour- 
ing in  by  hundreds,  men  bringing  their  books,  and  women 
their  tambourines,  and  many  their  knives  and  pistols, 
which  were  piled  up  into  a  great  heap  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  Santo  Spirito  and  set  on  fire.  It  was  a  huge  bonfire, 
which  burnt  quite  late  into  the  evening,  and  whilst  it 
burnt,  more  people  were  perpetually  arriving  and  throwing 
on  their  books  and  other  things,  just  as  in  the  old  days  of 
Florence  under  the  influence  of  Savonarola. 

"Last  Thursday  at  the  Caravita,  the  doors  of  the  church 
were  '  closed  at  one  hour  of  the  day  '  (i.  e.,  after  Ave 
Maria),  only  men  being  admitted,  and  when  they  were 
last,  scourges  were  distributed,  the  lights  all  put  out,  and 
every  one  began  to  scourge  both  themselves  and  their 
neighbours,  any  one  who  had  ventured  to  remain  in  the 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     287 

church  without  using  a  '  disciplina  '  being  the  more  vigor- 
ously scourged  by  the  others.  At  such  times  all  is  soon  a 
scene  of  the  wildest  confusion,  and  shrieks  and  groans  are 
heard  on  all  sides.  Some  poor  creatures  try  to  escape  by 
clinging  to  the  pillars  of  the  galleries,  others  fly  screaming- 
through  the  church  with  their  scourges  pursuing  them  like 
demons. 

"They  say  that  the  reason  why  St.  Joseph's  day  was  so 
much  kept  this  year  is  that  the  Pope  is  preparing  the 
public  mind  to  receive  a  dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception of  St.  Joseph  —  perhaps  to  be  promulgated  next 
year:  St.  Anne  is  to  be  reserved  to  another  time." 

"April  1,  Easter  Sunday.  Passion  Week  has  been  very 
odd  and  interesting,  but  not  reverent.  It  was  very  curious 
to  see  how  —  as  Mrs.  Goldsmid  says,  '  the  Church  always 
anticipates, '  so  that  the  Saviour,  personified  by  the  Sacra- 
ment is  laid  in  the  tomb  long  before  the  hour  of  His  death, 
and  Thursday,  not  Saturday,  is  the  day  upon  which  all 
the  faithful  go  about  to  visit  the  sepulchres.1  My  sister 
decorated  that  of  S.  Claudio  with  flowers  and  her  great 
worked  carpet.  The  Mother  recalls  John  Bunyan's  con- 
fession of  faith  — 

'Blest  cross,  blest  sepulchre,  — blest  rather  He, 
The  Man  that  there  was  put  to  shame  for  me.' 

"We  went  to  the  Benediction  in  the  Piazza  S.  Pietro  — 
a  glorious  blue  sky  and  burning  sunshine,  and  the  vast 
crowd  making  the  whole  scene  very  grand,  especially  at 
the  moment  when  the  Pope  stretched  out  his  arms,  and, 
hovering  over  the  crimson  balcony  like  a  great  white 
albatross,  gave  his  blessing  to  all  the  world.  Surely  noth- 
ing is  finer  than  that  wonderful  voice  of  Pius  IX.,  which, 
without  ever  losing   its  tone  of   indescribable  solemnity, 

1  Because  it  was  on  the  day  before  the  Crucifixion  that  Our  Lord 
said  "This  is  my  body,"  &c. 


288  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1800 

yet    vibrates    to    the    farthest    corners    of    the   immense 
piazza. 

''Afterwards  we  went  to  S.  Andrea  della  Valle  to  see 
the  '  sepolcro; '  but  Ear  more  worth  seeing  was  a  single  ray 
of  lighl  streaming  in  through  a  narrow  slit  in  one  of  the 
dark  blinds,  and  making  a  glistening  pool  of  gold  upon 
the    Mack    pavement. 

"On  (iood  Friday,  after  the  English  service,  we  went 
to  Santo  Spirito  in  Borgo,  where,  after  waiting  an  hour 
and  a  half,  seeing  nothing  but  the  curiously  ragged  con- 
gregation, we  found  that  the  '  Tre  Ore,'  was  to  be 
pleached  in  broad  Trasteverino,  of  which  we  could  not 
understand  a  word.  We  went  into  St.  Peter's,  which  was 
in  a  state  of  widowhood,  no  bells,  no  clock,  no  holy 
water,  no  ornaments  on  any  of  the  altars,  no  lamps  burn- 
ing at  the  shrine,  and  all  because  the  Sacrament  was  no 
longer  present.  We  went  again  in  the  afternoon,  when 
the  whole  building  was  thickly  crowded  from  end  to  end. 
I  stood  upon  the  ledge  of  one  of  the  pillars  and  watched 
two  graceful  ladies  and  a  gentlemanly-looking  man  in 
black  buffeted  in  the  crowd  below  me:  they  were  the  King 
and  Queen  of  Naples  and  the  Countess  Trani.  Some 
zealous  Bourbonists  kissed  their  hands  at  risk  of  being 
trampled  on. 

"To-day  St.  Peter's  and  all  the  other  churches  have 
come  to  life  again:  the  Sacrament  has  been  restored:  the 
hells  have  runs::  and  lire  and  water  have  been  re-blessed 
for  the  year  to  come.  All  private  Catholic  houses  too 
have  had  their  blessings.  A  priest  and  a  boy  surprised 
Lea  by  coming  in  here  and  blessing  everything,  and  she 
found  them  asperging  the  Mother's  bed  with  holy  water, 
all  at  the  desire  of  our  fellow-lodger,  Mr.  Monteith  of 
Carstairs,  whom  Louisa  described  as  dropping  gold  pieces 
into  their  water-vessel.  At  Palazzo  Parisani,  as  well  as 
below  us,  a  '  colazione  '  was  set  out,  with  a  great  cake, 
eggs,  &c,  and  after  being  blessed  was  given  away. 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     289 

"Antonelli  has  just  been  made  a  priest,"  in  the  vague 
idea,  I  suppose,  that  it  might  some  day  be  convenient  to 
raise  him  to  the  papacy. 

"  Mr.  Perry  Williams,  the  artist,  thought  the  old  woman 
who  cleans  out  his  studio  looked  dreadfully  ill  the  other 
day,  and  said,  '  You  look  very  bad,  what  on  earth  is  the 
matter  with  you  ? '  — '  Cosa  vuole,  Signore  ?  —  ho  avuto  una 
digestione  tutta  la  notte. ' ': 

"AprilS.  This  morning  poor  little  Miss  Joyce  lay  in 
a  chapelle  ardente  at  S.  Andrea  delle  Fratte,  and  all  the 
English  Catholics,  with  the  Borgheses  and  Dorias,  who 
were  her  cousins,  attended  the  requiem  mass.  She  was 
only  alarmingly  ill  for  thirty- six  hours,  of  brain  fever, 
caused  by  a  dose  of  twenty-five  grains  of  quinine  after 
typhus,  which  she  had  brought  back  from  Naples.  She 
had  been  the  gayest  of  the  gay  all  the  season,  and  a  week 
ago  was  acting  in  tableaux  and  singing  at  Mrs.  Cholmon 
deley's  party.  It  is  said  that  at  least  one  young  lady  is 
killed  every  year  by  being  taken  to  Naples  when  she  is 
overdone  by  the  balls  and  excitement  here. 

"  My  sister  gave  a  small  party  yesterday  evening.  The 
Duke  and  Duchess  Sora  were  there.  The  Duchess  has  a 
wonderfully  charming  expression.  K. ,  a  young  Tractarian, 
was  introduced  to  her.  She  said  afterwards,  '  J'ai  pense" 
longtemps  qu'il  dtait  catholique,  et  puis  j'ai  tourne*,  j'ai 
tourne1,   j'ai  tournd,   et  voila  qu'il  e'tait  protestant!  ' 

"April  8.  On  Thursday,  at  the  Monteiths',  I  met 
Lady  Herries,  Mrs.  Montgomery,  my  sister,  and  many 
other  Catholics.  They  were  all  assembled  before  dinner 
to  receive  Cardinal  de  Reisach,  a  very  striking-looking  old 
man,  whose  white  hair  and  brilliant  scarlet  robes  made  a 
splendid  effect  of  colour. 

"On  Friday,  at  2  p.  m.,  I  joined  the  Feildens  to  go  to 
the   Palazzo  Farnese.     Mrs.    F.    wore  a  high   grey  dress 

VOL.   II. —  19 


290  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [I860 

without  a  bonnet:  little  Helen  was  in  black  velvet,  with 
all  her  pretty  hair  flowing  over  her  shoulders;  Mr. 
Robartes,  Mr.  Feilden,  and  I  wore  evening  dress.  The 
whole  way  in  the  carriage  my  companions  declared  they 
felt  more  terrified  than  if  they  were  going  to  a  dentist,  as 
had  as  if  they  were  going  to  have  their  legs  taken  off. 
We  drove  into  the  courtyard  of  the  Farnese  and  to  the  foot 
of  the  staircase.  Several  other  people  were  just  coming 
down.  We  were  shown  through  one  long  gallery  after 
another  to  a  small  salon  furnished  with  green,  where  the 
Duca  della  Regina  and  an  old  lady  received  us.  Soon 
the  door  was  opened  at  the  side,  and  in  very  distinct  tones 
the  Duke  mentioned  our  names.  Just  within  the  door 
stood  Francis  II.  He  looked  grave  and  sad,  and  his  fore- 
head seemed  to  work  convulsively  at  moments;  still  I 
thought  him  handsome.  The  Queen  sat  on  a  sofa  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  She  was  in  a  plain  black  mourn- 
ing dress  with  some  black  lace  in  her  hair  (for  Queen 
Marie  Amelie,  her  husband's  aunt).  The  room  was  a 
boudoir,  hung  round  with  family  portraits.  There  was  a. 
beautiful  miniature  of  the  Queen  on  the  table  near  which 
I  sat. 

■"I  went  up  at  once  to  the  King  and  made  as  if  I  would 
kiss  his  hand,  but  he  shook  mine  warmly  and  made  me  sit 
in  an  arm-chair  between  him  and  the  Queen.  Mrs.  Feilden 
in  the  meantime  had  gone  direct  to  the  Queen,  who  seated 
her  by  her  side  upon  the  sofa,  and  taking  little  Helen  on 
her  lap,  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  said  she  remembered  her, 
having  often  seen  her  before.  I  said,  '  Ce  petit  enfant  a 
taut  de  denouement  pour  sa  Majeste"  la  Heine,  qu'elle  va 
tous  les  jours  a  la  Place  d'Espagne  seulement  pour  avoir 
le  bonheur  de  voir  sa  Majeste*  quand  elle  passe.'  The 
Queen's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  hid  her  face  in 
Helen's  hair,  which  she  kissed  and  stroked,  saying  'Oh 
mon  cher  enfant,  mon  cher  petit  enfant !  ' 

"The  King  then  said  something  about  the  great  rains 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     291 

we  had  suffered.  I  mentioned  the  prophecy  if  it  rained 
on  the  4th  April  — 

'  Quattro  di  brillante, 
Quaranta  di  durante,' 

and  the  King  said  that  in  Naples  there  was  a  superstition 
of  the  same  kind  as  that  of  our  St.  S  within  in  England. 

"  As  another  set  of  people  came  in,  we  rose  to  go,  kiss- 
ing the  Queen's  hand,  except  Helen,  who  kissed  her  face. 
The  King l  shook  hands  and  walked  with  us  to  the  door, 
expressing  a  wish  that  we  should  return  to  Rome;  and 
replying,  when  I  said  how  much  my  mother  benefited  by 
the  climate  here,  that  Madame  my  mother  ought  always 
to  make  the  most  of  whatever  climate  suited  her  health 
and  remain  in  it.  In  the  anteroom  the  Duca  della  Regina 
and  the  old  lady  were  waiting  to  see  Helen  again. 

"  To-day  Mrs.  Ramsay  asked  me  the  difference  between 
the  Italian  words  mezzo-caldo  and  semi-freddo.  One  would 
think  they  were  the  same,  but  mezzo-caldo  is  hot  punch 
and  semi-freddo  is  cold  cream!" 

I  have  put  in  these  extracts  from  my  journal,  as 
they  describe  a  state  of  things  at  Rome  which  seemed 
then  as  if  it  would  last  for  ever,  but  which  is  utterly 
swept  away  now  and  rapidly  passing  into  oblivion. 
The  English  society  was  as  frivolous  then  as  it  is 
now,  but  much  more  primitive.  It  wTas  the  custom 
in  those  days,  when  any  one  gave  a  larger  party 
than  usual,  to  ask  Mrs.  Miller,  a  respectable  old 
Anglo-German  baker  who  lived  in  the  Via  della 
Croce,  to  make  tea  and  manage  the  refreshments, 
and  one  knew  whether  the  party  that  one  was 
invited  to  was  going  to  be  a  large  or  small  one  by 

1  King  Francesco  II.,  died  December  1S94. 


'2\)'l 


THE   STORY   OF    MY   LIFE 


[18G6 


looking  to  sec  if  there  was  "  To  meet  Mrs.  Miller" 
in  the  corner. 

Our  davs  were  for  the  most  pari  spent  in  drawing, 
and  many  were  the  delightful  hours  we  passed  in  the 


CONTADINA,    VALLEY    OF    THE    SACCO.1 


Villa  Negroni,  which  has  now  entirely  disappeared, 
in  spite  of  its  endless  historic  associations,  or  in  the 
desolate  and  beautiful  vigne  of  the  Esquiline,  which 
have  also  been  destroyed  since  the  Sardinian  occupa- 
tion of  Rome.     Indeed,  those  who  visit  Rome  now 

1  From  "Days  near  Rome." 


1866]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     293 

that  it  is  a  very  squalid  modern  city,  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  wealth  and  glory  of  picturesqueness 
which  adorned  its  every  corner  before  1870,  or  of 
how  romantic  were  the  passing  figures  —  the  crim- 
son Cardinals;  the  venerable  generals  of  religious 
orders  with  their  flowing  white  beards ;  the  endless 
monks  and  nuns ;  the  pifferari  with  their  pipes ;  the 
peasant  women  from  Cori  and  Arpino  and  Subiaco, 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  AUGUSTUS,  NARNI.1 


with  their  great  gold  earrings,  coral  necklaces,  and 
snowy  head-dresses ;  the  contadini  in  their  sheep- 
skins and  goat-skins ;  the  handsome  stalwart  Guardia 
Nobile  in  splendid  tight-fitting  uniforms ;  and  above 
all,  the  grand  figure  and  beneficent  face  of  Pius  IX. 
so  frequently  passing,  seated  in  his  glass  coach,  in 
his  snow-white  robes,  with  the  stoic  self-estimation 
of  the  Popes,  but  with  his  own  kindly  smile  and  his 
fingers  constantly  raised  in  benediction. 

The  heat  was  very  great  before  we  left  Rome  in 

1  From  "  Days  near  Rome." 


294 


THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1866 


April.  We  went  first  to  Narni,  where  we  stayed 
several  days  in  a  very  primitive  Lodging,  with  the 
smallest  possible  amount  of  furniture,  and  nothing 
to  eat  except  cold  goat  and  rosemary,  1ml  in  u  glori- 
ous situation  on  the  terrace  which  overlooks  the  deep 


Till:    MEDIAEVAL    BHIIXJE,    NARNI.1 


rift  of  the  Nar,  clothed  everywhere  with  ilex,  box, 
and  arbutus ;  and  we  spent  long  hours  drawing  the 
two  grand  old  bridges  —  Roman  and  Mediaeval  — 
which  stride  across  the  river,  even  Lea  being  stimu- 
lated by  the  intense  beauty  to  a  trial  of  her  artistic 
powers,  and  making  a  very  creditable  performance  of 
the  two  grand  cypresses  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  which 
have  disappeared  under  the  Sardinian  rule. 

We  spent  a  happy  day  at  Spoleto,  with  its  splendid 
ilex  woods.  Here  my  friends  Kilcoursie  2  and  Pear- 
son joined  us,  and   I    went   with  them  to  spend   the 

1  From  ••  I  >ays  aear  Rome." 

'-'  Frederick,  Viscount  Kilcoursie,  son  of  the  8th  Kail  of  Cavan. 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     295 

morning  at  the  Temple  of  the  Clitumnus,  and  re- 
turned just  too  late  for  the  train  we  had  intended  to 
leave  by.  It  is  very  characteristic  of  the  slowness  of 
those  early  days  of  Italian  railways,  that  though  we 
did  not  order  our  carriage  till  some  time  after  the 
train  was  gone,  we  reached  Perugia  by  road,  in  spite 
of  the  steep  hill  to  be  climbed,  before  the  train  which 
we  were  to  have  taken  arrived  on  the  railway.  This 
evening's  drive  (April  23)  is  one  of  the  Italian  jour- 
neys I  look  back  upon  with  greatest  pleasure,  the 
going  onwards  through  the  rich  plain  of  vines  and 
almonds  and  olives,  and  all  the  blaze  of  spring  tulips 
and  gladioli,  and  the  stopping  to  buy  the  splendid 
oranges  from  the  piles  which  lay  in  the  little  market 
under  the  old  cathedral  of  Foligno ;  then  seeing  the 
sky  turn  opal  behind  the  hills,  and  deepen  in  colour 
through  a  conflagration  of  amber,  and  orange,  and 
crimson,  of  which  the  luminousness  was  never  lost, 
though  everything  else  disappeared  into  one  dense 
shadow,  and  the  great  cypresses  on  the  mountain 
edges  were  only  dark  spires  engraven  upon  the  sky. 
How  many  such  evenings  have  we  spent,  ever  mov- 
ing onwards  at  that  stately  smooth  vetturino  pace  — 
and  silent,  Mother  absorbed  in  her  heavenly,  I  in  my 
earthly  contemplations  ;  dear  Lea,  tired  by  her  long 
day j  often  sleeping  opposite  to  us  against  the  hand- 
bags. 

We  spent  several  days  in  Florence  in  1866,  when 
the  streets  were  already  placarded  with  such  adver- 
tisements as  '  Le  Menzogne  cli  Genese,  o  1'  Impostatura 
di  Mose  '  —  typical  of  the  change  of  Government.  I 
paid  several  visits  to  the   Comtesse   d'Usedom   (the 


li'JG 


THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE 


[1866 


Olyinpia  Malcolm  of  my  childhood),  who  was  more 
extraordinary  than  ever.  When  I  went  to  luncheon 
with  her  in  the  Villa  Capponi,  she  talked  incessantly 
for  three  hours,  chiefly  of  spirits. 


- 


VIEW    FROM    THE    UOBOLI    GARDENS,    FLORENCE.1 


"I  believe  in  them,"  she  said,  "of  course  I  do.  Why, 
haven't  I  heard  them?"  (with  a  perfect  yell).  "Why, 
I've  seen  a  child  whom  Ave  knew  most  intimately  who 
was  perfectly  possessed  by  spirits  --  evil  spirits,  I  mean. 
There  is  nothing  efficacious  against  that  kind  but  prayer 
and  the  crucifix.  Why,  the  poor  little  thing  used  to 
struggle  for  hours.  It  used  to  describe  the  devils  it  saw. 
They  were  of  different  hinds.  Sometimes  it  would  say, 
'  Oli,  it's  only  one  of  the  innocent  blackies,'  and  then  it 
would  shriek  when  it  thought  it  saw  a  red  devil  come.     It 

1  From  '•  Florence." 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     297 

was  the  red  devils  that  did  all  the  mischief.  All  the  best 
physicians  were  called  in,  but  they  all  said  the  case  was 
quite  beyond  them.  The  possession  sometimes  came  on 
twice  in  a  day.  It  would  end  by  the  child  gasping  a  great 
sigh,  as  if  at  that  moment  the  evil  spirit  went  out  of  it, 
and  then  quite  calmly  it  would  open  its  eyes,  wonder 
where  it  was,  and  remember  nothing  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  doctors  urged  that  the  child  should  not  be 
kept  quiet,  but  taken  abroad  and  amused,  and  mama 
writes  me  word  now  that  it  is  quite  well. 

"  I  never  saw  the  ghosts  at  Rugen,"  said  Madame  von 
Usedom,  "but  there  is  one  of  Usedom's  houses  there 
which  I  have  refused  ever  to  go  to  again,  for  I  have  heard 
them  there  often.  The  lady  in  the  room  with  me  saw 
them  too  —  she  saw  three  white  sisters  pulling  her  husband 
out  of  his  grave. 

"We  have  an  old  lady  in  our  family,  a  relation  of 
Usedom's,  who  has  that  wonderful  power  of  second-sight. 
.  .  .  When  we  left  you  at  Bamberg  (in  1853),  we  went 
to  Berlin,  and  there  we  saw  Usedom's  relation,  who  told 
me  that  I  was  going  to  have  a  son.  She  '  saw  it, '  she 
said.  Saw  it !  why,  she  saw  it  as  plain  as  daylight :  I 
was  going  to  have  a  son:  Usedom's  first  wife  had  brought 
him  none,  and  I  was  going  to  give  him  one. 

"  When  I  left  Berlin,  we  went  to  Rugen,  but  I  was  to 
return  to  Berlin,  where  my  son  was  to  be  born.  Well, 
about  three  weeks  before  my  confinement  Avas  expected, 
the  old  lady  sent  for  a  relation  of  Usedom's,  who  was  in 
Berlin,  and  said,  '  Have  you  heard  anything  of  Olympia  ?  ' 
—  'Yes,'  he  said,  '  I  heard  from  Usedom  yesterday,  and 
she  is  going  on  as  well  as  possible,  and  will  be  here  in  a 
few  days. '  — '  No, '  said  the  old  lady,  '  she  will  not,  for  the 
child  is  dead.  Yesterday,  as  I  was  sitting  here,  three 
angels  passed  through  my  room  -with  a  little  child  in  their 
arms,  and  the  face  of  the  child  was  so  exactly  like  Usedom's 
that  I  know  that  the  child  is  born  and  that  it  is  in  heaven.' 


298  THE  STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1SGG 

And  80  it  was.  I  had  a  bad  fall  in  Rugen,  which  we 
thought  nothing  of  at  the  time.  I  had  so  much  strength 
and  courage  that  it  did  not  seem  to  affect  me;  but  a  week 
after  my  boy  was  born  —  dead  —  killed  by  that  tall,  and  the 
image,  oh!  the  very  image  of  Usedom." 

From  Florence  we  went  to  Bellagio  on  the  Lago 
di  Como,  and  spent  a  week  of  glorious  weather  amid 
beautiful  flowers  with  nightingales  singing  in  the 
trees  all  clay  and  night.  Many  of  our  Roman  friends 
joined  ns,  and  we  passed  pleasant  days  together  in 
the  garden  walks  and  in  short  excursions  to  the 
neighbouring  villas.  When  we  left  Bellagio,  the  two 
Misses  Hawker,  often  our  companions  in  Rome, 
accompanied  us.  We  ascended  the  Splngen  from 
Chiavenna  in  pitch  darkness,  till,  about  4  A.M.,  the 
diligence  entered  upon  the  snow  cuttings,  and  we 
proceeded  for  some  time  between  walls  of  snow,  often 
fifteen  feet  high.  At  last  we  stopped  altogether,  and 
in  a  spot  where  there  was  no  refuge  whatever  from 
the  ferocious  ice-laden  wind.  Meantime  sledges  were 
prepared,  being  small  open  carts  without  wheels, 
which  just  held  two  persons  each:  my  mother  and 
I  were  in  the  second,  Lea  and  an  Italian  in  the  third, 
and  the  Hawkers  in  the  fourth:  we  had  no  man 
with  our  sledge.  The  sledges  started  in  procession, 
the  horses  stumbling  over  the  ledges  in  the  snow, 
from  which  we  bounded  up  and  down.  At  last  the 
path  began  to  wind  along  the  edge  of  a  terrific 
precipice,  where  nothing  but  a  slight  edging  of  fresh 
snow  separated  one  from  the  abyss.  Where  this 
narrow  path  turned  it  was  truly  horrible.  Then 
came  a  tunnel  festooned  with   long  icicles;    then  a 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     299 

fearful  descent  clown  a  snow-drift  almost  perpendicu- 
larly over  the  side  of  the  mountain,  the  horses  sliding 
on  all  fours,  and  the  sledges  crashing  and  bounding 
from  one  hard  piece  of  snow  to  another ;  all  this 
while  the  wind  blew  furiously,  and  the  other  sledges 
behind  seemed  constantly  coming  upon  us.  Certainly 
I  never  remember  anything  more  appalling.     At  the 


HOLMHURST,  FROM  THE  GARDEN. 


bottom  of  the  drift  was  another  diligence,  but  the 
Hawkers  and  I  walked  on  to  Splugen. 

We  spent  an  interesting  afternoon  at  Brugg,  and 
drew  at  Konigsfelden,  where  the  Emperor  Albert's 
tomb  is  left  deserted  and  neglected  in  a  stable,  and 
Queen  Agnes's  room  remains  highly  picturesque,  with 
many  relics  of  her.  In  the  evening  we  had  a  lovely 
walk  through  the  forest  to  Hapsburg,  where  we  saw 
a  splendid   sunset  from  the  hill  of   the   old    castle. 


300  THE  STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1866 

With  a  glimpse  at  Freiburg-im-Breisgau,  we  reached 
Carlsruhe,  with  which  we  were  very  agreeably  sur- 
prised. The  Sehloss  Garten  is  really  pretty,  with 
line  trees  and  fountains:  the  town  is  bright  and 
clean  ;  and  all  around  is  the  forest  with  its  endless 
pleasant  paths.  We  found  dear  Madame  de  Bunsen 
established  with  her  daughters  Frances  and  Emilia  in 
a  nice  old-fashioned  house,  18  Waldhornstrasse,  with 
all  their  pictures  and  treasures  around  them,  the  fine 
bust  of  Mrs.  Waddington  in  itself  giving  the  room  a 
character.  Circling  round  the  aunts  were  Theodora 
von  Unuern  Sternberg's  five  motherless  children,  a 
perpetual  life-giving  influence  to  the  home.  We 
went  with  them  into  the  forest  and  to  the  faisanerie, 
and  picked  masses  of  wild  lilies  of  the  valley.  In 
the  palace  gardens  we  saw  the  Grand  Duke  and 
Grand  Duchess,  a  very  handsome  couple :  she  the 
only  daughter  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  At  the  station 
also  I  saw  again,  and  for  the  last  time,  the  very 
pleasing  Queen  Emma  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and 
presented  the  Bunsens  to  her.1  On  the  eve  of  Trinity 
Sunday  we  reached  home. 

From  my  Journal. 

"  July  30, 18GG.  —  Holmh  u rst.  Another  happy  summer ! 
How  different  my  grown-up-hood  has  been  to  my  boyhood  : 
now  all  sunshine,  then  all  reproach  and  misery.  How 
strange  it  is  that  my  dearest  mother  remembers  nothing  of 
those  days,  nothing  of  those  years  of  bitter  heartache  which 
my  uncles'  wives  cost  me.  But  her  present  love,  her 
beautiful  full  heart  devotion,  are  all  free-will  offering,  not 

1  Queen  Emma  died  in  1S85. 


'  - 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     301 

sacrifice  of   atonement.       Our   little    Holmhurst   is    most 
lovely  and  peaceful." 

In  August  we  spent  a  fortnight  at  the  Deanery  at 
Westminster  with  Arthur  and  Augusta  Stanley,  the 
latter  ftt  les  clelices  of  all  who  came  under  her  influ- 
ence, and  both  were  most  kind  in  asking  every  one  to 
meet  us  that  they  thought  we  could  be  interested  to 
see.  To  me,  however,  no  one  was  ever  half  so  inter- 
esting as  Arthur  himself,  and  his  conversation  at 
these  small  Deanery  dinner-parties  was  most  delight- 
ful, though,  as  I  have  heard  another  say,  and  perhaps 
justly,  "  it  was  always  versatile  rather  than  accurate, 
brilliant  rather  than  profound."  From  London  we 
went  to  look  after  our  humble  friends  at  Alton, 
where  all  the  villagers  welcomed  my  mother  with  a 
most  touching  wealth  of  evergreen  love,  and  where 
forty  old  people  came  to  supper  by  her  invitation  in 
the  barn.  The  owls  hissed  overhead  in  the  oak 
rafters ;  the  feast  was  lighted  by  candles  stuck  into 
empty  ginger-beer  bottles,  and  in  quavering  voices 
they  all  drank  the  mother's  health.  She  made  them 
a  sweet  little  speech,  praying  that  all  those  who  were 
there  might  meet  with  her  at  the  great  supper  of  the 
Lamb.  I  had  much  interest  at  Alton  in  finding  out 
those  particulars  which  form  the  account  of  the  place 
in  "  Memorials  of  a  Quiet  Life."  The  interest  of  the 
people,  utterly  unspoilt  by  "  civilisation,"  can  hardly 
be  described,  or  the  simplicity  of  their  faith.  Speak- 
ing of  her  long  troubles  and  illness,  "  Betty  Smith  " 
said,  "  I  ha'  been  sorely  tried,  but  it  be  a'  to  help  I 
on  to  thick  there  place."     William  Pontyn  said,  "  It 


:;o:> 


THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE 


[1866 


just  be  a  comfort  to  I  to  know  that  God  Almighty's 
always  at  whom:  He  never  goes  out  on  a  visit." 
Their  use  of  line  words  is  very  comical.  Old  Pontyn 
said,  ••  My  son-in-law  need  na  treat  1  ill,  for  I  niver 
gied  mi  no  publication  for  it."  lie  thanked  mother 
for  her  '' resjDectable  gift,"  and  said,  "I   do  thank 


ALTON    BARNES    CHURCH. 


Gocl  ivery  morning  and  ivery  night,  that  I  do ;  and 
thank  an  as  I  may,  I  niver  can  thank  nn  enough, 
He  be  so  awful  «;ood  to  I."  He  said  the  noise  the 
threshing-machine  made  when  out  of  order  was  "fierly 
ridic'lous,"  and  that  he  was  "fierly  gallered  (fright- 
ened) at  it  "  — that  he  was  "  obliged  to  flagellate  the 
ducks  to  get  them  out  of  the  pond." 

I  drove  with  Mr.  Pile  to  see  the  remains  of  Wolf 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND  ROMAN  TRIALS     303 

Hall,  on  the  edge  of  Savernake  Forest,  where  Henry 
VIII.  married  Jane  Seymour.  The  house,  once  of 
immense  size,  is  nearly  destroyed.  The  roof  of  the 
banqueting-hall  is  now  the  roof  of  a  barn.  The 
beautiful  fragment  of  building  remaining  was  once 
the  laundry.  Hard  by,  at  Burbage,  is  "  Jane  Sey- 
mour's Pool." 

After  leaving  Alton,  as  if  making  the  round  of 
my  mother's  old  homes,  we  went  to  Buntingsdale, 
Hoclnet,  and  Stoke.  While  at  the  former,  I  remem- 
ber the  Tayleurs  being  full  of  the  promptitude  of  old 
Mrs.  Massie  (whose  son  Edward  married  our  cousin 
Sophy  Mytton).  When  above  ninety  she  had  been 
taken  to  see  the  church  of  Northwich,  where  some 
one  pointed  out  to  her  a  gravestone  with  the 
epitaph  — 

"  Some  have  children,  and  some  have  none  ; 
Here  lies  the  mother  of  twenty-one." 

Old  Mrs.  Massie  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height 
and  at  once  made  this  impromptu  — 

"  Some  have  many,  and  some  have  few ; 
Here  stands  the  mother  of  twenty-two." 

And  what  she  said  was  true. 

My  mother  turned  south  from  Shropshire,  and  I 
went  to  Lyme,  near  Disley,  the  fine  old  house  of  the 
Leghs,  whose  then  head,  W.  T.  Legh,  had  married 
Emily  Wodehouse,  one  of  the  earliest  friends  of  my 
childhood.  It  is  a  most  stately  old  house,  standing 
high  in  a  very  wild  park,  one  of  the  only  three 
places  where  wild  cattle  are  not  extinct.  The  story 
of  the  place  is  curious. 


304  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1866 

"Old  Colonel  Legh  of   Lyme  left  his  property  iirst  to 
his  son  Tom,  but  though  Tom  Legh  was  twice  married, 

he  had   no  sons,  so  it  came  to  the  father  of  the  present 
possessor.     Tom's  first  wife  had   been  the  celebrated  Miss 

Turner.  Her  father  was  a  Manchester  manufacturer,  who 
had  bought  the  property  of  Shrigley,  near  Lyme,  of  which 
his  only  daughter  was  the  heiress.  She  was  carried  off 
from  school  by  a  conspiracy  between  three  brothers  named 
Gibbon  Wakefield  and  a  .Miss  Davis,  daughter  of  a  very 
respectable  master  of  the  Grammar  School  at  Macclesfield. 
While  at  school,  Miss  Turner  received  a  letter  from  home 
which  mentioned  casually  that  her  family  had  changed 
their  butler.  Two  days  after,  a  person  purporting  to  be 
the  new  butler  came  to  the  school,  and  sent  in  a  letter  to 
sav  that  Mr.  Turner  was  dangerously  ill,  and  that  he  was 
sent  to  fetch  his  daughter,  who  was  to  return  home  at 
once.  In  the  greatest  hurry,  Miss  Turner  was  got  ready 
and  sent  off.  When  they  had  gone  some  way,  the  carriage 
Stopped,  and  a  young  man  got  in,  who  said  that  he  had 
been  sent  to  break  to  her  the  news  that  her  father's  illness 
was  a  fiction;  that  they  did  not  wish  to  spread  the  truth 
by  letting  the  governess  know,  but  that  the  fact  was  that 
Mr.  Turner  had  got  into  some  terrible  money  difficulties 
and  was  completely  ruined,  and  he  begged  that  his  daughter 
would  proceed  at  once  to  meet  him  in  Scotland,  whither 
lie  was  obliged  to  go  to  evade  his  creditors.  During  the 
journey  the  young  man  who  was  sent  to  chaperon  Miss 
Turner  made  himself  most  agreeable.  At  last  they  reached 
Berwick,  and  then  at  the  inn,  going  out  of  the  room,  he 
returned  with  a  letter  and  said  that  he  was  almost  afraid 
to  tell  her  its  contents,  hut  that  it  was  sent  by  her  father's 
command,  and  that  he  only  implored  her  to  forgive  him 
for  obeying  her  father's  orders.  It  was  a  most  urgent 
letter  from  her  father,  saying  that  it  rested  with  her  to 
extricate  him  from  his  difficulties,  which  she  could  do  by 
consenting  to  marry  the  bearer.     The  man  was  handsome 


1866]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     305 

and  pleasant,  and  the  marriage  seemed  no  great  trial  to 
the  girl,  who  was  under  fifteen.  Immediately  after  mar- 
riage she  was  taken  to  Paris. 

"Meantime  all  the  gentlemen  in  the  county  rallied 
round  Mr.  Turner,  and  he  contrived  somehow  to  get  his 
daughter  away  whilst  she  was  in  Paris.  Suspicion  had 
been  first  excited  in  the  mind  of  the  governess  because 
letters  for  Miss  Turner  continued  to  arrive  at  the  school 
from  Shrigley,  and  she  gave  the  alarm.  There  was  a 
great  trial,  at  which  all  the  gentlemen  in  Cheshire  accom- 
panied Mr.  Turner  when  he  appeared  leading  his  daughter. 
The  marriage  was  pronounced  null  and  void,  and  one  of 
the  Gibbon  Wakefields  was  imprisoned  at  Lancaster  for 
five  years,  the  others  for  two.  It  was  the  utmost  punish- 
ment that  could  be  given  for  misdemeanour,  and  nothing 
more  could  be  proved.  The  Gibbon  Wakefields  had 
thought  that,  rather  than  expose  his  daughter  to  three 
days  in  a  witness  box,  Mr.  Turner  would  consent  to  a 
regular  marriage,  and  they  had  relied  upon  that.  Miss 
Turner  was  afterwards  married  to  Mr.  Legh,  in  the  hope 
of  uniting  two  fine  properties,  but  as  she  had  no  son, 
her  daughter,  Mrs.  Lowther,  is  now  the  mistress  of 
Shrigley." 

To  my  Mother. 

"Lyme  Rail,  August  29,  1866.  I  have  been  with  Mrs. 
Legh  to  Bramhall,  the  fine  old  house  of  the  Davenports, 
near  Stockport,  with  the  haunted  room  of  Lady  Dorothy 
Davenport  and  no  end  of  relics.  Out  of  the  billiard-room 
opens  the  parish  church,  in  the  same  style  as  the  house, 
with  prayer-books  chained  to  the  seats.  We  returned  by 
Marple,  the  wonderfully  curious  old  house  of  Bradshaw 
the  regicide." 

"  Sept.  1.  To-day  we  had  a  charming  drive  over  the  hills, 
the  green  glens  of  pasture-land,  the  steeps,  and  the  toss- 

*     vol.  ii. —  20 


306  HIE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1806 

in"-  burns  recalling  those  of  Westmoreland.  I  went  with 
Mrs.  Leeh  into  one  of  tin-  cottages  and  admired  the  blue 
w;isli  of  the  loom,  'Oh,  you  like  it,  do  ye?"  said  the 
mistress  of  the  house;  '  I  don't  —  so  that's  difference  of 
opinions.'  The  whole  ceiling  was  hung  with  different 
kinds  of  herbs,  '  for  we're  our  own  doctors,  ye  sec,  and  it 
sa\cs  the  physic  bills.' 

"The  four  children-  Sybil  and  M oh  (Mabel),  Tom  and 
Gilbert  Legh,  are  delightful,  and  Sybil  quite  lovely.  It 
is  a  pleasure  to  hear  the  little  feet  come  scampering  down 
the  oak  staircase,  as  the  four  rush  down  to  the  library  to 
ask  for  a  story  at  seven  o'clock  -  '  A  nice  horrible  story, 
all  about  robbers  and  murders:  now  do  tell  us  a  really 
horrible  one.' ' 

"  Thornycroft  Hall,  Cheshire,  Sept.  3.  The  family  here 
are  much  depressed  by  the  reappearance  of  the  cattle 
plague.  In  the  last  attack  sixty-eight  cows  died,  and  so 
rapidly  that  men  had  to  be  up  all  night  burying  them  by 
lantern-light  in  one  great  grave  in  the  park.  .  .  .  How 
curious  the  remains  of  French  expressions  are  as  used  by 
the  cottagers  here.  They  speak  of  carafes  of  water,  and 
say  they  should  not  oss  (oser)  to  do  a  thing.  The  other  day 
one  of  the  Birtles  tenants  was  1  icing  examined  as  a  witness 
at  the  Manchester  assizes.  l  You  told  me  so  and  so. 
didn't  you?'  said  the  lawyer.  And  the  man  replied,  '  I 
tell't  ye  nowt  o'  the  kind,  ye  powther-headed  monkey- 
ask  the  coompany  now  if  I  did.' 

From  Thornycroft  I  went  to  stay  (only  three  miles 
off)  at  Birtles,  the  charming,  comfortable  home  of  the 
Hibberts  —  very  old  friends  of  all  our  family.  Mrs. 
Hibbert,  nee  Caroline  Cholmondeley,  was  very  inti- 
mate with  my  aunt  Mrs.  Stanley,  and  a  most  inter- 
esting and  agreeable  person ;   and  I  always  found  a 


1866]     ENGLISH    PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     307 

visit  to  Birtles  a  most  admirable  discipline,  as  my 
great  ignorance  was  so  much  discovered  and  com- 
mented upon,  that  it  was  always  a  stimulus  to 
further  exertion.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Mrs. 
Hibbert  told  me  a  very  remarkable  story.  It  had 
been  told  her  by  Mrs.  Gaskell  the  authoress,  who 
said  that  she  felt  so  greatly  the  uncertainty  of  life, 
that  she  wished  a  story  which  might  possibly  be  of 
consequence,  and  which  had  been  intrusted  to  her,  to 
remain  with  some  one  who  was  certain  to  record  it 
accurately.  Three  weeks  afterwards,  sitting  by  the 
fire  with  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Gaskell  died  suddenly  in 
her  arm-chair.  Mrs.  Hibbert,  in  her  turn,  wished  to 
share  her  trust  with  some  one,  and  she  selected  me. 

In  my  childhood  I  remember  well  the  Misses  T.,  who 
were  great  friends  of  my  aunt  Mrs.  Stanley,  and  very 
clever  agreeable  old  ladies.  "Many  years  before,"  as 
Mrs.  Gaskell  described  to  Mrs.  Hibbert,  "they  had  had 
the  care  of  a  young  cousin,  a  girl  whose  beauty  and  clever- 
ness were  a  great  delight  to  them.  But  when  she  was 
very  young,  indeed  in  the  first  year  of  her  '  coming  out, ' 
she  engaged  herself  to  marry  a  Major  Alcock.  In  a 
worldly  point  of  view  the  marriage  was  all  that  could  be 
desired.  Major  Alcock  was  a  man  of  fortune  with  a  fine 
place  in  Leicestershire:  he  was  a  good  man,  of  high 
character,  and  likely  to  make  an  excellent  husband.  Still 
it  was  a  disappointment  —  an  almost  unspoken  disappoint- 
ment —  to  her  friends  that  the  young  lady  should  marry 
so  soon  —  '  she  was  so  young, '  they  thought;  'she  had  had 
so  few  opportunities  of  judging  persons ;  they  had  looked 
forward  to  having  her  so  much  longer  with  them, '  &c. 

"  When  Mrs.  Alcock  went  to  her  new  home  in  Leicester- 
shire, it  was  a  great  comfort  to  the  Misses  T.  and  others 


308  THE  STORY   OF  MY    LIFE  [1866 

who  cared  for  her  that  some  old  friends  of  the  family 
would  be  her  nearest  neighbours,  and  could  keep  them 
cognisant  of  how  she  was  going  on.  For  some  time  the 
letters  of  these  friends  described  Mrs.  Alcock  as  radiantly, 
perfectly  happy.  Mrs.  Aleock's  own  letters  also  gave 
glowing  descriptions  of  her  home,  of  the  kindness  of  her 
husband,  of  her  own  perfect  felicity.  But  after  a  time  a 
change  came  over  the  letters  on  both  sides.  The  neigh- 
bours described  Mrs.  Alcock  as  sad  and  pale,  and  con- 
stantly silent  and  preoccupied,  and  in  the  letters  of  Mrs. 
Alcock  herself  there  was  a  reserve  and  want  of  all  her 
former  cheerfulness,   which  aroused  great  uneasiness. 

"The  Misses  T.  went  to  sec  Mrs.  Alcock,  and  found 
her  terribly,  awfully  changed  —  haggard,  worn,  preoccu- 
pied, with  an  expression  of  fixed  melancholy  in  her  eye.--. 
Both  to  them  and  to  the  doctors  who  were  called  in  to  her 
she  said  that  the  cause  of  her  suffering  was  that,  waking 
or  sleeping,  she  seemed  to  see  he  fore  her  a  face,  the  face 
of  a  man  whom  she  exactly  described,  and  that  she  was 
sure  that  some  dreadful  misfortune  was  about  to  befall  her 
from  the  owner  of  that  face.  Waking,  she  seemed  to  see 
it,  or,  if  she  fell  asleep,  she  dreamt  of  it.  The  doctors 
said  that  it  was  a  case  of  what  is  known  as  phantasmagoria  ; 
that  the  fact  was  that  in  her  unmarried  state  Mrs.  Alcock 
had  not  only  had  every  indulgence  and  consideration,  but 
that  even  the  ordinary  rubs  of  practical  life  had  been 
warded  off  from  her;  and  that  having  been  suddenly  trans- 
planted into  being  the  head  of  a  large  establishment  in 
Leicestershire,  with  quantities  of  visitors  coming  and  going 
throughout  the  hunting  season,  had  been  too  much  for  a 
very  peculiar  and  nervous  temperament,  and  that  over- 
fatigue and  unwonted  excitement  had  settled  into  this 
peculiar  form  of  delusion.  She  must  have  perfect  rest, 
they  said,  and  her  mind  would  soon  recover  its  usual 
tone. 

'This  was  acted   upon.     The   house   in   Leicestershire 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     309 

was  shut  up,  and  Major  and  Mrs.  Alcock  went  abroad  for 
the  summer.  The  remedy  completely  answered.  Mrs. 
Alcock  forgot  all  about  the  face,  slept  well,  enjoyed  her- 
self extremely  and  became  perfectly  healthy  in  body  and 
mind.  So  well  was  she,  that  it  was  thought  a  pity  to  run 
the  risk  of  bringing  her  back  to  Leicestershire  just  before 
the  hunting  season,  the  busiest  time  there,  and  it  was 
decided  to  establish  her  cure  by  taking  her  to  pass  the 
winter  at  Rome. 

"  One  of  the  oldest  established  hotels  in  Rome  is  the 
Hotel  d'Angleterre  in  the  Bocca  di  Leone.  It  was  to  it 
that  travellers  generally  went  first  when  they  arrived  at 
Rome  in  the  old  vetturino  da}*s ;  and  there,  by  the  fountain 
near  the  hotel  door  which  plays  into  a  sarcophagus  under 
the  shadow  of  two  old  pepper-trees,  idle  contadini  used  to 
collect  in  old  days  to  see  the  foreigners  arrive.  So  I 
remember  it  in  the  happy  old  daj^s,  and  so  it  was  on  the 
evening  on  which  the  heavily  laden  carriage  of  the  Alcock 
family  rolled  into  the  Bocca  di  Leone  and  stopped  at  the 
door  of  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre.  Major  Alcock  got  out, 
and  Mrs.  Alcock  got  out,  but,  as  she  was  descending  the 
steps  of  the  carriage,  she  happened  to  glance  round  at  the 
group  under  the  pepper-trees,  and  she  uttered  a  piercing 
shriek,  fell  down  upon  the  ground,  and  was  carried  uncon- 
scious into  the  hotel. 

"  When  Mrs.  Alcock  came  to  herself,  she  affirmed  that 
amongst  the  group  near  the  door  of  the  hotel  she  had 
recognised  the  owner  of  the  face  which  had  so  long  tor- 
mented her,  and  she  was  certain  that  some  dreadful  mis- 
fortune was  about  to  overwhelm  her.  Doctors,  summoned 
in  haste,  when  informed  of  her  previous  condition,  declared 
that  the  same  results  were  owing  to  the  same  causes. 
Major  Alcock,  who  disliked  bad  hotels,  had  insisted  on 
posting  straight  through  to  Rome  from  Perugia ;  there  had 
been  difficulties  about  horses,  altercations  with  the  post- 
boys —  in  fact,-  '  the  delusion  of  Mrs.  Alcock  was  owing, 


310  THE    STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1868 

as  before,  to  over-fatigue  and  excitement:  she  must  have 
perfect  rest,  and  she  would  soon  recover.' 

"So  it  proved.  Quirt  and  rest  soon  restored  Mrs. 
Alcoek,  and  she  was  soon  able  to  enjoy  going  about  quietly 
and  entering  into  the  interests  of  Rome.  It  was  decided 
thai  she  should  he  saved  all  possible  fatigue,  even  the 
slight  one  of  Roman  housekeeping:  so  the  family  remained 
at  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre.  Towards  January,  however, 
Mrs.  Alcoek  was  so  well  that  they  sent  out  some  of  the 
numerous  letters  of  introduction  which  they  had  brought 
with  them,  and,  in  answer  to  these,  many  of  the  Romans 
came  to  call.  One  day  a  Roman  Marchese  was  shown 
upstairs  to  the  Alcocks'  room,  and  another  gentleman 
went  up  with  him.  The  Marchese  thought,  'Another 
visitor  come  to  call  at  the  same  time  as  myself,'  the 
waiter,  having  only  one  name  given  him,  thought,  '  The 
Marchese  and  his  hrother,  or  the  Marchese  and  a  friend,' 
and  they  were  shown  in  together.  As  they  entered  the 
room,  Mrs.  Alcoek  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lire;  she  jumped  up,  looked  suddenly  behind  the  Marchese 
at  his  companion,  again  uttered  a  fearful  scream,  and 
again  fell  down  insensible.  Both  gentlemen  hacked  out  of 
the  room,  and  the  Marchese  said  in  a  well-bred  wa\  that 
as  the  Signora  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  lie  should  hope  for 
another  opportunity  of  seeing  her.  The  other  gentleman 
went  out  at  the  same  time. 

"Again  medical  assistance  was  summoned,  and  again 
the  same  cause  was  ascrihed  to  Mrs.  Alcock's  illness:  this 
time  she  was  said  to  he  over-fatigued  by  sight-seeing. 
Again  quiet  and  rest  seemed  to  restore  her. 

"It  was  the  spring  of  1848  —  the  year  of  the  Louis 
Philippe  revolution.  Major  Alcoek  had  a  younger  sister 
to  whom  he  was  sole  guardian,  and  who  was  at  school  in 
Paris,  and  he  told  his  wife  that,  in  the  troubled  state  of 
political  affairs,  he  could  not  reconcile  it  to  his  conscience 
to  leave  her  there  unprotected;  he  must  go  and  take  her 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN    TRIALS     311 

away.  Mrs.  Alcock  begged  that,  if  he  went,  she  might 
go  with  him,  but  naturally  he  said  that  was  impossible  — 
there  might  be  bloodshed  going  on  —  there  might  be  barri- 
cades to  get  over  —  there  might  be  endless  difficulties  in 
getting  out  of  Paris;  at  any  rate,  there  would  be  a  hurried 
and  exciting  journey,  which  would  be  sure  to  bring  back 
her  malady:  no,  she  had  friends  at  Rome,  —  she  must 
stay  quietly  there  at  the  hotel  till  he  came  back.  Mrs. 
Alcock,  with  the  greatest  excitement,  entreated,  implored 
her  husband  upon  her  knees  that  she  might  go  with  him ;  but 
Major  Alcock  thought  this  very  excitement  was  the  more 
reason  for  leaving  her  behind,  and  he  went  without  her. 

"  As  all  know,  the  Louis  Philippe  revolution  was  a  very 
slight  affair.  The  English  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  out 
of  Paris,  and  in  a  fortnight  Major  Alcock  was  back  in 
Rome,  bringing  his  sister  with  him.  When  he  arrived, 
Mrs.  Alcock  was  gone.  She  was  never,  never  heard  of 
again.  There  was  no  trace  of  her  whatever.  All  that 
ever  was  known  of  Mrs.  Alcock  was  that,  on  the  day  of 
her  disappearance,  some  people  who  knew  her  were  walk- 
ing in  front  of  S.  John  Late  ran,  and  saw  a  carriage  driv- 
ing very  rapidly  towards  the  Porta  S.  Giovanni  Laterano, 
and  in  it  sat  Mrs.  Alcock  crying  and  wringing  her  hands 
as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  by  her  side  there  sat  a 
strange  man,  with  the  face  she  had  so  often  described." 

I  have  my  own  theories  as  to  the  explanation  of 
this  strange  story  of  Mrs.  Alcock,  but  as  they  are 
evolved  entirely  from  my  own  imagination,  I  will 
not  mention  them  here. 

From  Cheshire  I  went  to  North  Wales  to  pay  a 
visit  to  our  cousinhood  at  Bodryddan,  which  had 
been  the  home  of  my  grandmother's  only  brother, 
the  Dean  of  St.  Asaph.  The  place  has  been  spoilt 
since,  but  was  very  charming  in  those  days.     Under 


312 


THE    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE 


[I860 


an  old  clock-tower  one  entered  upon  a  handsome 
drive  with  an  avenue  of  fine  elms,  on  the   right  of 

which  a  lawn,  with  magnificent  firs,  oaks,  and  cedars, 
swept  away  to  the  hills.  At  the  end  rose  the  stately 
old  red    brick  house,   half  covered    with    magnolias. 


V-    .,.. 


BODR1  IH)AN. 


myrtles,  and  buddlea,  with  blazing  beds  of  scarlet  and 
yellow  flowers  lighting  up  its  base.  Through  an  oak 
hall  hung  with  armour  a  fine  staircase  led  to  the  library 
—  an  immense  room  with  two  deep  recesses,  entirely 
furnished  with  black  oak  from  Copenhagen,  and 
adorned  with  valuable  enamels  collected  at  Lisbon. 
The  place  had  belonged  to  the  Conwys,  and  that 
family  ended  in  three  sisters,  Lady  Stapleton,  Mrs. 
Cotton,  and  Mrs.  Yonge :  they  had  equal  shares. 
Mrs.  Cotton  bought  up  Lady  Stapleton' s  share,  and 
left  it  with  her  own  to  the  two  daughters  of  her 
sister  Mrs.  Yonge,  of  whom   the   elder   married    my 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN    TRIALS     313 

great-uncle,  Dean  Shipley,  and  was  the  mother  of 
William  and  Charles  Shipley  and  of  the  three  female 
first  cousins  (Penelope,  Mrs.  Pelham  Warren ;  Emily, 
Mrs.  Heber;  and  Anna  Maria,  Mrs.  Dash  wood)  who 
played  so  large  a  part  in  the  early  history  of  my 
father  and  his  brothers,  and  who  are  frequently 
mentioned  in  the  first  volume  of  these  memoirs. 

When  Dean  Shipley  married,  he  removed  to  his 
wife's  house  of  Bodryddan.  Miss  Yonge  lived  with 
them,  and  after  her  sister's  death  the  Dean  was 
most  anxious  to  marry  her,  trying  to  obtain  an  Act 
of  Parliament  for  the  purpose.  For  some  years  their 
aunt,  Lady  Stapleton,  also  continued  to  hold  a  life- 
interest  in  the  property.  Of  this  lady  there  is  a 
curious  portrait  at  Bodryddan.  She  is  represented 
with  her  two  children  and  a  little  Moor,  for  whom 
her  own  little  boy  had  conceived  the  most  passionate 
attachment,  and  from  whom  he  could  never  bear  to 
be  separated.  One  night,  after  this  little  Moor  was 
grown  up,  Lady  Stapleton,  returning  very  late  from 
a  ball,  went  to  bed,  leaving  all  her  diamonds  lying 
upon  the  table.  Being  awakened  by  a  noise  in  the 
room,  she  saw  the  Moor  come  in  with  a  large  knife 
in  his  hand,  and  begin  gathering  up  her  jewels. 
Never  losing  her  presence  of  mind,  she  raised  herself 
up  in  bed,  and,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  him,  exclaimed 
in  a  thrilling  tone  of  reproach,  "  Pompey,  is  that 
you  ?  "  This  she  did  three  times,  and  the  third  time 
the  Moor,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  rushed 
out  of  the  room.  Nothing  was  heard  of  him  till 
many  years  afterwards,  when  the  chaplain  of  a 
Devonshire    gaol  wrote   to  Lady  Stapleton  that  one 


314  THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE  [1866 

of  bis  prisoners,  under  sentence  of  death  for  murder, 
was  most  anxious  to  sec  her.     She  was  unable  to  so, 

but  heard  afterwards  that  it  was  Pompey,  who 
said  that  on  the  night  be  entered  her  room  lie  had 
intended  to  kill  her.  hut  that  when  she  spoke,  such 
a  sense  of  his  ingratitude  overwhelmed  him.  that  he 
was  unable  to  do  it. 

As  an  ecclesiastical  dignitary,  Dean  Shipley  would 
certainly  be  called  to  account  in  our  days.  He  was 
devoted  to  hunting  and  shooting,  and  used  to  go  up 
for  weeks  together  to  a  little  public-house  in  the  hills 
above  Bodryddan,  where  he  gave  himself  up  entirely 
to  the  society  of  his  horses  and  dogs.  He  had  led 
a  very  fast  life  before  he  took  orders,  and  he  had 
a  natural  daughter  by  a  Mrs.  Hamilton,  who  became 
the  second  wife  of  our  grandfather  ;  but  after  his 
ordination  there  was  no  further  stain  upon  his  char- 
acter. As  a  father  he  was  exceedingly  severe.  He 
never  permitted  his  daughters  to  sit  down  in  his 
presence,  and  he  never  allowed  two  of  them  to  be  in 
the  room  with  him  at  once,  because  he  could  not 
endure  the  additional  talking  caused  by  their  speak- 
ing to  one  another.  His  daughter  Anna  Maria  had 
become  engaged  to  Captain  Dashwood,  a  very  hand- 
some young  officer,  but  before  the  time  came  at 
which  he  was  to  claim  her  hand,  he  was  completely 
paralysed,  crippled,  and  almost  imbecile.  Then  she 
flung  herself  upon  her  knees,  imploring  her  father 
with  tears  not  to  insist  npon  her  marriage  with  him; 
but  the  Dean  sternly  refused  to  relent,  saying  she 
had  given  her  word,  and   must  keep  to  it. 

She  nursed  Captain  Dashwood  indefatigably  till  he 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES    AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     315 

died,  and  then  she  came  back  to  Bodryddan,  and 
lived  there  with  her  aunt  Mrs.  Yonge,  finding  it 
dreadfully  dull,  for  she  was  a  brilliant  talker  and 
adored  society.  At  last  she  went  abroad  with  her 
aunt  Louisa  Shipley,  and  at  Corfu  she  met  Sir 
Thomas  Maitland,  who  gave  her  magnificent  dia- 
monds, and  asked  her  to  marry  him.  But  she  in- 
sisted on  coming  home  to  ask  her  father's  consent,  at 
which  the  Dean  was  quite  furious.  "  Why  could  you 
not  marry  him  at  once  ?  "  —  and  indeed,  before  she 
could  get  back  to  her  lover,  he  died  ! 

After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Yonge,  Mrs.  Dash  wood 
lived  at  Cheltenham,  a  rich  and  clever  widow,  and 
had  many  proposals.  To  the  disgust  of  her  family, 
she  insisted  upon  accepting  Colonel  Jones,  who  had 
been  a  neighbour  at  Bodryddan,  and  was  celebrated 
for  his  fearfully  violent  temper.  The  day  before  the 
wedding  it  was  nearly  all  off,  because,  when  he  came 
to  look  at  her  luggage,  he  insisted  on  her  having 
only  one  box,  and  stamped  all  her  things  down  into 
it,  spoiling  all  her  new  dresses.  He  made  her  go 
with  him  for  a  wedding  tour  all  over  Scotland  in  a 
pony-carriage,  without  a  maid,  and  she  hated  it ;  but 
in  a  year  he  died. 

Then  she  insisted  on  marrying  the  Rev.  G.  Chet- 
wode,  who  had  had  one  wife  before  and  had  two  after- 
wards—  an  old  beau,  who  used  to  comb  his  hair  with 
a  leaden  comb  to  efface  the  grey.  On  her  death  he 
inherited  all  she  had  —  diamonds,  <£2000  a  year,  all 
the  fine  pictures  left  her  by  Mr.  Jones,  and  all  those 
Landor  had  collected  for  her  in  Italy. 

But  to  return  to  Dean  Shipley.     To  Mrs.  Rowley, 


316  THE    STOllY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

who   was    the    mistress  of   Bodryddan   when    I    was 

there,  the  Dean  had  been  the  kindest  of  grandfathers, 

and   she  had  no  recollection  of  him  which  was  not 

iciated  with  the  most  unlimited  indulgence.     The 

Dean  was  much  interested  in  the  management  of  his 
estate,  bul  he  insisted  that  every  detail  should  pass 
through  his  own  hands.  For  instance,  while  he  was 
absent  in  London,  a  number  of  curious  images  and 
carvings  in  alabaster  were  discovered  under  the 
pavement  at  Bodryddan:  news  was  immediately  sent 
to  him,  but  he  desired  that  everything  should  be 
covered  ii]>.  and  remain  till  he  came  home.  On  his 
return,  he  put  off  the  examination  from  time  to  time, 
till,  on  his  death,  the  place  was  forgotten,  and  now 
no  one  is  able   to  discover  it. 

Mrs.  Rowley  was  the  beautiful  Charlotte,  only 
daughter  of  Colonel  William  Shipley,  and  had  led 
an  adventurous  life,  distinguishing  herself  by  her 
bravery  and  heroism  during  the  plague  while  she  was 
in  the  East,  and  on  various  other  occasions.  By  her 
marriage  with  Colonel  Rowley,  second  son  of  the  first 
Lord  Langford,  she  had  three  children,  —  Shipley 
Conwy,  the  present  owner  of  Bodryddan;  Gwynydd, 
who  has  married  twice;  and  Efah,  who,  after  her 
mother's  death,  made  a  happy  marriage  with  Captain 
Somerset. 

In  her  early  married  life,  Mrs.  Rowley  had  lived 
much  in  Berkeley  Square  with  her  mother-in-law,  old 
Lady  Langford,  who  was  the  original  of  Lady  Kew 
in  "  The  Newcomes,"  and  many  pitched  battles  they 
had,  in  which  the  daughter-in-law  generally  came  off 
victorious.      Lady  Langford  had   been  very  beautiful, 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     317 

clever,  and  had  had  line  vie  ires  orageuse.  She  had 
much  excuse,  however.  She  had  only  once  seen  her 
cousin,  Lord  Langford,  when  he  came  to  visit  her 
grandmother,  and  the  next  day  the  old  lady  told 
her  she  was  to  marry  him.  "  Very  well,  grandmama, 
but  when?"  —  "I  never  in  my  life  heard  such  an 
impertinent  question,"  said  the  grandmother ;  "  what 
business  is  it  of  yours  ivhen  you  are  to  marry  him  ? 
You  will  marry  him  when  I  tell  you.  However, 
whenever  you  hear  me  order  six  horses  to  the  car- 
riage, you  may  know  that  you  are  going  to  be 
married."     And  so  it  was. 

At  the  time  I  was  at  Bodryddan,  the  most  devoted 
and  affectionate  deference  was  shown  by  Mrs.  Rowley 
to  every  word,  movement,  or  wish  of  her  only  brother, 
Colonel  Shipley  Conwy.  He  looked  still  young,  but 
was  quite  helpless  from  paralysis.  Mrs.  Rowley  sat 
by  him  and  fed  him  like  a  child.  It  was  one  mouth- 
ful for  her  brother,  the  next  for  herself.  When 
dinner  was  over,  a  servant  came  in  and  wrung  his 
arms  and  legs,  as  you  would  pull  bell-ropes,  to  pre- 
vent the  joints  from  stiffening  (a  process  repeated 
several  times  in  the  evening),  and  then  carried  him 
out.  But  with  all  this,  Colonel  Shipley  Conwy  — 
always  patient  —  was  very  bright  and  pleasant,  and 
Mrs.  Rowley,  who  said  that  she  owed  everything  to 
my  father  and  his  interest  in  her  education,  was 
most  cordial  in  welcoming  me.  I  never  saw  either 
of  these  cousins  again.  They  spent  the  next  two 
winters  at  the  Cape,  and  both  died  a  few  years 
afterwards. 

A  little  later,  I  went  to  stay  at  Dalton  Hall  in 


818  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1866 

Lancashire,  to  visit  Mrs.  Hornby,  a  cousin  of  my 
Aunt  IVinliyn.  and  a  very  sweet  and  charming  old 
lady,  who  never  failed  to  be  loved  by  all  who  came 
wit hin  her  influence.  She  told  me  many  old  family 
stories,  amongst  others  how  — 

"  The  late  Lord  Derby  (the  13th  Earl)  was  very  fond  of 
natural  history  even  as  a  boy.  One  night  he  dreamt  most 
vividly  of  a  rare  nest  in  the  ivy  on  the  wall,  and  that  he 
was  most  anxious  to  get  it,  but  it  was  impossible.  In  the 
morning,  the  nest  was  on  his  dressing-table,  and  it  could 
only  have  got  there  by  his  opening  the  window  in  his  sleep 
and  climbing  the  wall  to  it  in  that  state. 

k' Another  instance  of  his  sleep-walking  relates  that  he 
had  a  passion,  as  a  little  boy,  for  sliding  down  the  banisters, 
but  it  was  strictly  forbidden.  One  night  his  tutor  had 
been  sitting  up  late  reading  in  the  hall,  when  he  saw  one 
of  the  bedroom  doors  open,  and  a  little  boy  come  out  in  his 
night-shirt  and  slide  down  the  banisters.  This  he  did  two 
or  three  times,  and  when  the  tutor  made  some  little  noise, 
he  ran  upstairs  and  disappeared  into  his  bedroom.  The 
tutor  followed,  but  the  little  boy  was  fast  asleep  in  bed." 

Apropos  of  sleep-walking,  Mr.  Bagot  (husband  of 
Mrs.  Hornby's  daughter  Lucy)  told  me  a  story  he  had 
just  seen  in  the  Times :  — 

"  A  large  pat  of  butter  was  lately  on  the  breakfast  table 
of  a  family.  When  it  was  divided,  a  gold  watch  and  chain 
were  found  in  the  midst  of  it.  The  maid  who  was  waiting 
gave  a  shriek,  and  first  rushed  off  to  her  room,  then,  com- 
ing hack,  declared  it  was  hers.  The  family  were  much 
surprised,  but  what  she  said  turned  out  to  be  true.  She 
had  dreamt  that  she  was  going  to  be  robbed  of  her  watch 
and  chain,  and  that  the  only  way  of  hiding  them  would  be 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     319 

to  wrap  them  up  in  a  pat  of  butter,  and  she  had  done  it  in 
her  sleep/' 

A  sister-in-law  of  Mrs.  Hornby  —  a  Mrs.  Bayley  — 
was  staying  at  Dalton  when  I  was  there.  She  told 
me  —  first  hand  —  a  story  of  which  I  have  heard 
many  distorted  versions.     I  give  it  in  her  words  :  — 

"  My  sister,  Mrs.  Hamilton  (nee  Armstrong),  was  one 
night  going  to  bed,  when  she  saw  a  man's  foot  project  from 
under  the  bed.  She  knelt  down  then  and  there  by  the 
bedside  and  prayed  for  the  wicked  people  who  were  going 
about  —  for  the  known  wicked  person  especially  —  that 
they  might  be  converted.  When  she  concluded,  the  man 
came  from  under  the  bed  and  said,  '  I  have  heard  your 
prayer,  ma'am,  and  with  all  my  heart  I  say  Amen  to  it ; ' 
and  he  did  her  no  harm  and  went  away.  She  heard  from 
him  years  afterwards,  and  he  was  a  changed  man  from  that 
day." 

Apropos  of  the  growth  of  a  story  by  exaggeration, 
Mrs.  Bayley  said  :  — 

•w  The  first  person  said,  '  Poor  Mrs.  Richards  was  so  ill 
that  what  she  threw  up  was  almost  like  a  black  crow.' 
The  second  said,  '  Poor  Mrs.  Richards  was  so  ill :  it  was 
the  most  dreadful  thing,  she  actually  threw  up  a  black 
crow.'  The  third  said,  '  Poor  Mrs.  Richards  has  the  most 
dreadful  malady :  it  is  almost  too  terrible  to  speak  of,  but 
she  has  already  thrown  up  .   .  .   three  black  crows.' ' 

Mrs.  Bayley  was  a  very  "  religious "  person,  but 
she  never  went  to  church:  she  thought  it  wrong. 
She  called  herself  an  "unattached  Christian,"  and 
said  that  people  only  ought  to  go  to  church  for  praise, 


320  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1866 

but  to  <lo  their  confessions  at  home.  When  I  lefl 
Dal  inn.  she  presented  me  with  a  little  hook,  which 
she  begged  me  not  to  read  till  I  was  quite  away.  It 
was  <alled  "  Do  von  belong  to  the  Helllire  Club?" 
It  was  not  an  allegorical  little  book,  hut  really  and 
seriously  asked  the  question,  saying  that,  though  not 
generally  known,  such  a  club  really  existed,  where  the 
most  frightful  mysteries  were  enacted,  and  that  it 
was  just  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  I  might 
secretly  belong  to  it,  and  if  so,  &c,  &c.  A  similar 
little  book  was  once  thrust  into  my  hand  by  a  lady  at 
the  top  of  St.  James's  Street. 

On  the  29th  of  October,  1866,  we  left  England  for 
Cannes,  stopping  on  the  way  at  Villefranche,  that  we 
might  visit  Ars,  for  the  sake  of  its  venerable  Cure. 

To  my  Sister. 

"Nov.  1866.  It  was  a  pretty  and  peculiar  drive  to  Ars: 
first  wooded  lanes,  then  high  open  country,  from  whence 
you  descend  abruptly  upon  the  village,  which,  with  its  pic- 
turesque old  church,  and  the  handsome  wooden  one  behind 
it,  quite  fills  the  little  hollow  in  the  hills.  The  village  itself 
is  almost  made  up  of  hotels  for  the  pilgrims,  but  is  pictur- 
esque at  this  season,  with  masses  of  golden  vine  falling 
over  all  the  high  walls.  We  left  the  carriage  at  the  foot  of 
the  church  steps,  and  ascended  through  a  little  square 
crowded  witli  beggars,  as  in  the  time  of  the  Curd.1  The 
old  church  is  exceedingly  interesting.  In  the  middle  of 
the  floor  is  the  grave  of  the  Cure",  once  surrounded  by  a 
balustrade  hung  with  immortelles,  which  are  now  in  the 
room  where  he  died.  At  the  sides  are  all  the  little  chapels 
he  built  at  the  different  crises  of  his  life,  that  of  S.  Philo- 
mene  being  quite  filled  with  crutches,  left  by  lame  persons 

1  Jean  Baptiste  Marie  Vianney. 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     321 

who  have  gone  away  cured.  Beyond  the  old  church  opens 
out  the  handsome  but  less  interesting  modern  building- 
erected  by  the  Empress  and  the  bishops,  with  a  grand 
baldacchino  on  red  granite  pillars,  and  on  the  altar  a  beau- 
tiful bas-relief  of  the  Cure*  carried  to  heaven  by  angels. 
In  the  old  church  a  missionary  was  giving  the  pilgrims 
(who  kept  flocking  in  the  whole  time)  a  very  beautiful  and 
simple  exposition  on  the  life  of  Christ  as  a  loving  Saviour, 
quite  carrying  on  the  teaching  of  the  Cure'. 

"  At  half-past  twelve  a  Sister  of  Charity  came  to  show 
the  Curd's  room.  It  is  railed  off,  because  the  pilgrims 
would  have  carried  everything  away,  as  they  have  almost 
undermined  the  thick  walls  in  their  eagerness  to  possess 
themselves  of  the  bits  of  stone  and  plaster ;  but  you  see 
the  narrow  bed,  the  poor  broken  floor,  his  chair,  his  table, 
his  pewter  spoon  and  earthen-ware  pot,  —  the  picture  which 
was  defiled  by  the  Demon,  —  the  door  at  which  '  the 
Grappin  '  knocked,  —  the  narrow  staircase  from  which  he 
shouted  '  Mangeur  de  truffes,'  —  the  still  poorer  room 
downstairs  where  the  beloved  Cure  lay  when  all  his  people 
passed  by  to  see  him  in  his  last  sleep,  —  the  little  court 
shaded  by  ancient  elder-trees  in  which  he  gave  his  incessant 
charities,  —  and  close  by  the  little  house  of  his  servant 
Catherine.  She  herself  is  the  sweetest  old  woman,  seem- 
ing to  live,  in  her  primitive  life,  upon  the  gleanings  and 
the  teaching  of  the  past.  She  sate  on  a  low  stool  at 
Mother's  feet,  and  talked  in  the  most  touching  way  of  her 
dear  Curd.  When  Mother  said  something  about  the 
crowds  that  came  to  him,  she  said,  '  I  have  always  heard 
that  when  the  dear  Saviour  was  on  earth,  He  was  so  sweet 
and  loving,  that  people  liked  to  be  near  Him,  and  I  sup- 
pose that  now  when  men  are  sweet  and  loving,  and  so  a 
little  like  the  dear  Saviour,  people  like  to  be  near  them 
too.'  In  a  small  chapel  of  the  school  he  founded  they 
showed  some  blood  of  the  Curd  in  a  bottle  — '  encore 
coulant.'     Many  other  people  we  saw  who  talked  of  him  — 

VOL.  II.  —  21 


322 


THE    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE 


[1866 


1  Comme  il  etait  gai,  toujours  gai,'  &c.  The  whole  place 
seemed  cut  out  of  the  world,  in  an  atmosphere  of  peace 
and  prayer,  like  a  little  heaven:  no  wonder  Roman  Cath- 
olics like  to  n'o  into  'Retreat'  there."' 

We  stayed  afterwards  at   Aries,  and  made  the  ex- 
cursion to  S.  Remy,  one  of  the  most  exquisitely  beau- 


l~1  . 


S.    REJ1Y.1 


tiful  places  I  have  ever  seen,  where  Roman  remains, 
grand  in  form  and  of  the  most  splendid  orange 
colouring,  rise  close  to  the  delicate  Alpines. 

At  Cannes  we  wTere  most  fortunate  in  finding  a 
house  exactly  suited  to  our  needs  —  a  primitive  bas- 
tide,  approached  by  a  long  pergola  of  vines,  on  the 
way  to  the  Croix  des  Gardes,  quite  high  up  in  woods 
of  myrtle  and  pine  upon  the  mountain  side.2     It  was 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France.'' 

-  All   this  picturesque  side  of  Cannes  has  since   been  spoilt  and 


vulgarised. 


1866]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     323 

far  out  of  the  town  and  dreadfully  desolate  at  night, 
but  in  the  daytime  there  were  exquisite  views  through 
the  woods  of  the  sea  and  mountains,  and  a  charming 
terraced  garden  of  oranges  and  cassia  —  the  vegeta- 
tion quite  tropical.  Close  to  the  turn  into  our  per- 
gola was  a  little  shrine  of  S.  Francois,  which  gave  a 


FROM    MAISON    S.    FRANCOIS,    CANNES.1 


name  to  our  cottage,  and  which  the  peasants,  passing 
to  their  work  in  the  forests,  daily  presented  with 
fresh  flowers.  Delightful  walks  led  beyond  us  into 
the  hilly  pine  woods  with  a  soil  of  glistening  mica, 
and,  if  one  penetrated  far  enough,  one  came  out  upon 
the  grand  but  well-concealed  precipices  of  rock  known 
as  the  Rochers  de  Bilheres.  Just  below  us  lived  Lord 
Mount-Edg-cumbe,  the  "  Valletort "  of  my  Harrow 
days,  with  his  sweet  invalid  wife,  and  their  three 
little  girls,  with  the  little  Valletort  of  this  time,  were 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


32  I  THE    STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [18G6 

a  perpetual  pleasure  to  my  mother  in  her  morning 
walk  to  the  Croix  des  Gardes.  Old  Madame  Boeuf, 
our  landlady,  used  to  come  up  every  morning  in  her 
large  flapping  Provencal  hat  to  work  with  her  women 
amongsl  the  cassia:  the  sunshine  seemed  almost 
ceaseless,  and  all  winter  we  used  to  sit  with  open 
windows  and  hear  our  maid  Marguerite  carolling  her 
strange  patois  ballads  at  her  work. 

On  the  other  side  of  Cannes,  at  the  Hotel  de  Pro- 
vence, wre  had  a  large  group  of  friends,  LadyVerulam 
and  her  sons  ;  Lord  and  Lady  Suffolk  and  their  two 
daughters;  and  the  Dowager  Lady  Morley  with  her 
son  and  daughter.  With  the  latter  I  became  very 
intimate,  and  joined  them  in  many  long  and  delight- 
ful excursions  to  remote  villages  and  to  the  unspeak- 
ably grand  scenery  above  the  Var.  Lady  Suffolk  too 
became  a  dear  and  much  honoured  friend. 

A  still  greater  pleasure  was  the  neighbourhood,  in 
a  small  house  by  the  torrent  at  the  foot  of  our  hill,  of 
the  dear  old  Lady  Grey  of  our  Nice  days,  and  her 
niece  Miss  G.  Des  Voeux.  I  generally  dined  with  them 
once  or  twice  a  week,  and  constantly  accompanied 
them  on  delightful  drawing  excursions,  taking  our 
luncheon  with  us.  In  the  spring  I  went  away  with 
them  for  several  days  together  to  the  wild  mountains 
of  S.  Vallier  and  S.  Cesaire.  Lady  Grey  painted  beauti- 
fully, though  she  only  began  to  be  an  artist  when  she 
was  quite  an  old  woman.  She  always  went  out  sketch- 
ing with  thirty-nine  articles,  which  one  servant  called 
over  at  the  door,  another  answering  "  Here  "  for  each, 
to  secure  that  nothing  should  be  left  behind. 

Beneath    us,  at    the    Hotel    Bellevue,   were   Lady 


1866]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     325 

Jocelyn  and  her  children,  with  Lord  and  Lady  Ver- 
non and  Mr.  and  Lady  Louisa  Wells,  whom  we  saw 
frequently ;  also  three  admirable  Scotch  sisters,  Mrs. 
Douglas,  Miss  Kennedy,  and  Mrs.  Tootal.  Hither  also 
came  for  two  months  our  dear  friend  Miss  Wright 
("Aunt  Sophy"),  and  she  was  a  constant  pleasure, 
dropping  in  daily  at  tea-time,  and  always  the  most 
sympathising  of  human  beings  both  in  joy  and 
sorrow. 


BOCCA    WOOD,   CANNES. 


Altogether,  none  of  our  winters  was  so  rich  in 
pleasant  society  as  this  one  at  Cannes,  and  we  had 
nothing  to  trouble  us  till  the  spring,  when  Lea  was 
taken  very  seriously  ill  from  the  bite  either  of  scor- 
pion or  tarantula,  and,  while  she  was  at  the  worst 
and  unable  to  move,  my  mother  became  alarmingly 
ill  too  with  a  fever.  I  was  up  with  them  through 
every  night  at  this  time  ;  and  it  was  an  odd  life  in 
the  little  desolate  basticle,  as  it  was  long  impossible 
to  procure  help.  At  length  we  got  a  Sceur  cle  Charite 
—  a  pretty  creature  in  a  most  picturesque  nun's  dress, 
but  efficient  for  very  little  except  the  manufacture  and 
consumption  of  convent  soup,  made  with  milk,  tap- 
ioca, and  pepper. 


•J- 1) 


THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[18(56 


Still,  for  the  most  part,  my  mother  had  nut  been 
so  well  or  so  perfectly  happy  for  years  as  in  our  little 
hermitage  amid  the  juniper  and  rosemary.     It  was 

just  what  she  most  enjoyed,  the  walks  all  within  her 
compass  —  perfect  country,  invariably  dry  and  healthy. 


MAISON    S.    FRANCOIS;   CANNES. 


perpetual  warmth  in  which  to  sit  out,  and  endless  sub- 
jects for  her  sketch-book.  Lea.  rejoiced  to  be  rid  for 
some  months  of  her  tiresome  husband,  found  plenty 
of  occupation  in  her  kitchen  and  in  attending  to  the 
poultry  which  she  bought  and  reared  ;  while  I  was 
engrossed  with  my  drawings,  of  which  I  sold  enough 
to  pay  our  rent  very  satisfactorily,  and  with  my 
"Lives  of  the  Popes,"  a  work  on  which  1  spent  an 
immense  amount  of  time,  but  which  is  still  unfinished 
in  MS.,  and  likely  to  remain  so.      My  mother  greatly 


) 


llllllfc 


1866]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     327 

appreciated  the  church  at  Cannes,  and  we  liked  the 
clergyman,  Mr.  Rolfe,  and  his  wife.  His  sermons 
were  capital.  I  do  not  often  attend  to  sermons,  but 
I  remember  an  excellent  one  on  Zacharias  praying 
for  vengeance,  and  Stephen  for  mercy  on  his  murder- 
ers, as  respectively  illustrating  the  principles  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament  —  Justice  and  Mercy. 

I  dined  once  or  twice,  to  meet  Mr.  Panizzi 1  of  the 
British  Museum,  at  the  house  of  a  quaint  old  Mr. 
Kerr,  who  died  soon  afterwards.  It  was  him  of 
whom  it  used  to  be  said  that  he  had  been  "  trying 
to  make  himself  disagreeable  for  sixty  years  and  had 
not  quite  succeeded."  When  he  Avas  eighty  he  told 
me  that  there  were  three  things  he  had  never  had  : 
he  had  never  had  a  watch,  he  had  never  had  a  key, 
and  he  had  never  had  an  account. 

I  frequently  saw  the  famous  old  Lord  Brougham, 
who  bore  no  trace  then  of  his  "flashes  of  oratory," 
of  his  "  thunder  and  lightning  speeches,"  but  was  the 
most  disagreeable,  selfish,  cantankerous,  violent  old 
man  who  ever  lived.  He  used  to  swear  by  the  hour 
together  at  his  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  William  Brougham,2 
who  lived  with  him,  and  bore  his  ill-treatment  with 
consummate  patience.  He  would  curse  her  in  the 
most  horrible  language  before  all  her  guests,  and  this 
not  for  anything  she  had  done,  but  merely  to  vent  his 
spite  and  ill-humour.  Though  a  proper  carriage  was 
always  provided  for  him,  he  would  insist  upon  driving 
about  Cannes  daily  in  the  most  disreputable  old  fly 

1  Afterwards  Sir  Antonio  Panizzi. 

2  Emily,  only  daughter  of  Sir  Charles  Taylor  of  Hollycombe,  after- 
wards Lady  Brougham  and  Vaux. 


328  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

he  could  procure,  with  the  hope  that  people  would 
say  he  was  neglected  by  his  family.  Yet  he  preferred 
the  William  Broughams  to  his  other  relations,  and 
entirely  concealing  that  he  had  other  brothers,  pro- 
cured the  reversion  of  his  title  to  his  youngest  brother, 
William,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  Queen  when 
she  found  it  out.  Lord  Brougham  was  repulsive  in 
appearance  and  excessively  dirty  in  his  habits.  He 
had  always  been  so.  Mr.  Kerr  remembered  seeing 
him  at  the  Beefsteak  Club,  when  the  Prince  Regent 
was  President,  and  there  was  the  utmost  license  of 
manners.  One  day  when  he  came  in,  the  Prince 
Regent  roared  out,  "  How  dare  you  come  in  here, 
Brougham,  with  those  dirty  hands  ?  "  —  and  he  in- 
sisted on  the  waiters  bringing  soap  and  water  and 
having  his  hands  washed  before  all  the  company.  In 
early  life,  if  anything  aggravated  him  at  dinner, -he 
would  throw  his  napkin  in  the  face  of  his  guests,  and 
he  did  things  quite  as  insulting  to  the  close  of  his  life 
at  Cannes,  where  he  had  a  peculiar  prestige,  as  having, 
through  his  k*  Villa  Louise  Eleanore,"  *  first  brought 
the  place  into  fashion,  which  led  to  the  extension  of 
a  humble  fishing  village  into  miles  upon  miles  of  villas 
and  hotels. 

To  Miss  Wright  (after  she  had  gone  on  to  Rome). 

"  Maison  S.  Francois,  Camus,  Feb.  2,  1867.  On  Tues- 
day we  made  an  immense  excursion  of  thirteen  hours  to 
the  'Seven  villages  of  the  Var.'  The  party  consisted  of 
Lord  Morley  and  Lady  Katherine,  Lord  Suffolk  and  Lady 
Victoria,  Lord  Henry  Percy.  Lord  Mount-Edgcumbe,  and 
myself.  We  left  by  the  7.40  train  and  had  carriages  to 
1  The  name  of  his  daughter,  who  died  in  18-J9. 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     329 

meet  us  at  Cagnes.  These  took  us  as  far  as  the  grand 
Sinai-like  granite  peaks  of  S.  Janet,  and  thence  we  walked. 
The  whole  terrace  is  most  grand  for  seven  miles  above  the 
tremendous  purple  gorge  of  the  Var,  overhung  here  and 
there  by  splendid  Aleppo  pines  or  old  gnarled  oaks ;  and 
as  we  reached  just  the  finest  point  of  all,  where  the  huge 
castle  of  Carrozza  stands  out  on  a  great  granite  crag,  the 


CAGNES.1 


mist  curtain  drew  up  and  displayed  range  on  range  of  snow 
mountains,  many  of  them  close  by — really  a  finer  scene 
than  any  single  view  I  remembered  in  Switzerland.  The 
whole  of  our  party,  hitherto  inclined  to  grumble,  were 
almost  petrified  by  the  intensity  of  the  splendour. 

"  M.  Victor  Cousin's  sudden  death  at  dinner  has  been  a 
great  shock  to  the  Cannes  world.  It  was  just  at  that  time 
that  our  attention  was  so  sadly  occupied  by  the  illness  and 
death  of  dear  old  Sir  Adam  Hay.  The  Hays  gave  a  picnic 
at  Vallauris,  to  which  I  was  invited,  and  Sir  Adam  caught 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


Of> 


30  THE  STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1867 

;i  cold  there,  uliieh  excited  no  attention  at  the  time,  as  he 
had  never  been  ill  in  his  life  before.  Four  days  after- 
wards Adilie  Hay  took  .Miss  Hawker  and  me  in  their 
carriage  to  Napoule,  where  we  spent  a  pleasant  day  in 
drawing.  When  we  came  back,  his  father  was  most 
alarmingly  ill,  and  absent  children  had  been  already  tele- 
graphed for.  All  that  week  I  went  constantly  to  Villa 
Escarras,  and  shared  with  the  family  their  alternations  of 
hope  and  fear,  but  at  the  end  of  a  week  dear  Sir  Adam 
died,  and  all  the  family  went  away  immediately,  as  he  was 
to  be  buried  at  Peebles." 

During  the  latter  part  of  our  stay  at  Cannes,  the 
society  of  Madame  Goldschmidt  (Jenny  Lind)  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  my  mother,  and  in  Iter  great  kind- 
ness she  came  often  to  sing  to  her.  We  went  with 
the  Goldschmidts  to  Antibes  one  most  glorious  Feb- 
ruary day,  when  Madame  G.  was  quite  glowing  with 
delight  in  all  the  beauties  around  and  gratitude  to 
their  Giver.  "Oh,  how  good  we  ought  to  be  —  how 
good  with  all  this  before  our  eyes !  it  is  a  country  to 
die  in."  She  spoke  much  of  the  sweetness  of  the 
Southern  character,  which  she  believed  to  be  partly 
due  to  the  climate  and  scenery.  She  talked  of  an 
old  man,  bowed  with  rheumatism,  who  worked  in 
her  garden.  That  morning  she  had  asked  him, 
"Comment  ca  va-t-il  ?  Comment  va  votre  sante?" 
—  "Oh,  la  volonte*  de  Dieu!"  he  had  replied  —  "la 
volonte"  de  Dieu! '  In  his  pretty  Provencal  his  very 
murmur  was  a  thanksgiving  for  what  God  sent. 
She  spoke  of  the  dislike  English  had  to  foreigners, 
but  that  the  only  point  in  which  she  envied  the 
English    was   their  noble    women.     In    Sweden    she 


186G]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     331 

said  they  might  become  as  noble,  but  that  hitherto 
the  character  of  Swedish  women  had  been  oppressed 
by  the  bondage  in  which  they  were  kept  by  the 
laws  —  that  they  had  always  been  kept  under  guar- 
dians, and  could  have  neither  will  nor  property  of 
their  own,  unless  they  married,  even  when  they  were 
eighty.     She  said  that  she   was   the   first   Swedish 


ANTIBES.2 


woman  who  had  gained  her  liberty,  and  that  she 
had  obtained  it  by  applying  direct  to  the  king,  who 
emancipated  her  because  of  all  she  had  clone  for 
Sweden.  Now  the  law  was  changed,  and  women 
were  emancipated  when  they  were  five-and-twenty. 
Then  Madame  Goldschmidt  talked  of  the  faithful- 
ness of  the  Southern  vegetation.  In  England  she 
said  to  the  leaves,  "  Oh,  you  poor  leaves !  you  are 
so  thin  and  miserable.  However,  it  does  not  signify, 
for  you  have  only  to  last  three  or  four  months ;  but 
these  beautiful  thick  foreign  leaves,  with  them  it  is 
quite  different,  for  they  have  got  to  be  beautiful 
always." 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


332  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

We  drove  up  the  road  leading  to  the  light-house, 
and  then  walked  up  the  steep  rocky  path  carrying 
two  baskets  of   luncheon,  which  Ave  ate  under  the 

shadow  of  a  wall  looking  down  upon  a  glorious  view. 
Madame  Goldschmidt  had  been  very  anxious  all  the 
way  about  preserving  a  cream-tart  which  she  had 
brought.  "  Voila  le  grand  moment,"  she  exclaimed 
as  it  was  uncovered.  When  some  one  spoke  of  her 
enthusiasm,  she  said,  "Oh,  it  is  delightful  to  soar, 
but  one  is  soon  brought  back  again  to  the  cheese  and 
bread  and  butter  of  life."  When  Lady  Suffolk  asked 
how  she  first  knew  she  had  a  voice,  she  said,  "  Oh,  it 
did  fly  into  me  !  " 

At  first  sight  Madame  Goldschmidt  might  be 
called  "  plain,"  though  her  smile  is  most  beautiful 
and  quite  illuminates  her  features;  lint  how  true 
of  her  is  an  observation  I  met  with  in  a  book  by 
the  Abbe  Monnin,  "  Le  sourire  ne  se  raconte  pas." 
"She  has  no  face;  it  is  all  countenance"  might  be 
said  of  her,  as  Miss  Edgeworth  said  of  Lady  Wel- 
lington. 

It  was  already  excessively  hot  before  we  left 
Cannes  on  the  29th  of  April.  After  another  day 
at  the  grand  ruins  of  Montmajour  near  Aries,  we 
diverged  from  Lyons  to  Le  Puy,  a  place  too  little 
known  and  most  extraordinary,  with  its  grand  and 
fantastic  rocks  of  basalt  crowned  by  the  most  pictu- 
resque of  buildings.  Five  days  were  happily  spent 
in  drawing  at  Le  Puy  and  Espailly,  and  in  an  excur- 
sion to  the  charming  neighbouring  campagne  of  the 
old  landlord  and  landlady  of  the  hotel  where  we 
were  staying.     Then  my  mother  assented  to  my  wish 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     333 

of  taking  a  carriage  through  the  forests  of  Velay  and 
Auvergne  to  the  grand  desolate  monastery  of  the 
Chaise  Dieu,  where  many  of  the  Popes  lived  during 
their  exile  in  France,  and  where  Clement  VI.  lies 
aloft  on  a  grand  tomb  in  the  centre  of  the  superb 
choir,  which  is  so  picturesquely  hung  with  old  tapes- 
tries.    Our  rooms  at  the  hotel  here  cost  half  a  franc 


LE    PUT. 


apiece.  Joining  the  railway  again  at  Brioude,  we 
went  to  the  Baths  of  Royat,  then  a  very  primitive 
and  always  a  very  lovely  place,  with  its  torrent 
tumbling  through  the  walnut  woods,  its  gorge  closed 
by  a  grand  old  Templars'  church,  and  its  view  over 
rich  upland  vineyards  to  the  town  and  cathedral 
of  Clermont.  On  the  way  home  we  visited  the 
great  deserted  abbey  of  Souvigny  near  Moulins,  and 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


334 


THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE 


[1867 


bouerht  the  beautiful  broken  statuette   which  is  one 
of  the  principal  ornaments  of  Holmhurst. 

In  June  I  went  to  Oxford  to  stay  with  my  friend 
Henry  Hood,  and  was  charmed  to  make  acquaintance 


* 


'ixr  r 


II- 


BOTAT.1 


with  a  young  Oxford  so  different  from  the  young 
Oxford  of  my  days,  that  it  seemed  altogether  an- 
other race  —  so  much  more  cordial  and  amusing, 
though  certainly  very  Bohemian.  During  this  visit 
I  cemented  an  acquaintance  with  Claude  Delaval 
Cobham,  then   reading  for  the  orders  for  which  he 

1  From  "South-Eastern  France." 


1867]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     335 

soon  felt  himself  unsuited.  In  some  respects  he  is 
one  of  the  cleverest  men  I  have  met,  especially  from 
his  unusual  linguistic  acquirements,  combined  with 
extreme  correctness.  I  have  frequently  received 
kindness  from  him  since  and  valuable  advice  and 
help  in  literary  work,  and  though  I  have  sometimes 
conceitedly  rebelled  against  his  opinion  at  the  time, 
I  have  -never  failed  to  find  that  he  was  in  the 
riffht. 

To  my  Mother. 

"  Oxford,  June  1,  1867.  We  went  this  morning  in 
two  pony-carriages  to  Cuddesden,  where  Claude  Cobham 
now  is,  and  spent  the  afternoon  in  walking  and  sitting  in 
the  Bishop's  shady  and  weedy  garden, 

"  The  other  day,  coming  out  of  this  garden,  the  Bishop 
heard  two  navvies  on  the  other  side  of  the  road  talkino-. 
'I  zay,  Bill,  ain't  yon  a  Beeshop?'  said  one.  '  Yees, ' 
said  Bill.  '  Then  oi  '11  have  some  fun  oot  o'  him. '  So  he 
crossed  the  road  and  said,  '  I  zay,  zur,  be  you  a  Beeshop  ? ' 
— w  Yes,  at  your  service, '  said  the  Bishop.  '  Then  can 
you  tell  us  which  is  the  way  to  heaven  ?  '  — '  Certainly, ' 
said  the  Bishop,  not  the  least  discomposed;  '  turn  to  the 
right  and  go  straight  on.'" 

"  June  3.  I  enjoy  being  at  Oxford  most  intensely,  and 
Hood  is  kindness  itself.  A  wet  day  cleared  into  a  lovely 
evening  for  the  boat-race,  which  was  a  beautiful  sight,  the 
green  of  the  water-meadows  in  such  rich  fulness,  and  the 
crowd  upon  the  barges  and  walks  so  bright  and  gay." 

"6  Bury  Street,  June  12.  The  first  persons  I  met  in 
London  were  Arthur  and  Augusta  Stanley,  who  took  me 
into  their  carriage,  and  with  them  to  the  Park,  whence  we 
walked  through  Kensington  Gardens,  and  very  pretty  they 


336  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

looked.  Arthur  described  his  first  sight  of  the  Queen  on 
that  spot,  and  Augusta  was  lull  of  Princess  Mary's  clever- 
ness in  being  confined  in  the  same  house  on  the  same  day 
on  which  the  Queen  was  born. 

"Then  I  went  to  Lady  Wenlock,  a  most  charming  visit 
to  that  sweet  old  lady,  now  much  feebler,  hut  so  animated 
and  lively,  and  her  life  one  long  thanksgiving  that  her 
paralysis  has  left  all  her  powers  unimpaired.  She  told  me 
many  old  stories.  I  also  called  on  Lady  Lothian,  who  is 
greatly  disturbed  at  Madame  de  Trafford's  power  over  my 
sister.  She  says  she  quite  considers  her  '  possessed,'  and 
that  she  ought  to  be  exorcised.  To-day  I  dined  with  Lady 
Grey.  She  told  me  that  as  Charlie  Grey  was  crossing  to 
America,  his  fellow-passengers  were  frightfully  sea-sick, 
especially  a  man  opposite.  At  last  an  American  sitting 
by  him  said,  '  1  guess,  stranger,  if  that  man  goes  on  much 
longer,  he  '11  bring  up  his  boots.' 

"  June  15.  I  have  been  sitting  long  with  Lady  East- 
lake.  She  spoke  of  how  the  great  grief  of  her  widowhood 
had  taimht  her  to  sift  the  dross  from  letters  of  condolence. 
She  says  that  she  lives  upon  hope;  prayer  is  given  her  in 
the  meanwhile  as  a  sustenance,  not  a  cure,  for  if  it  were  a 
cure,  one  might  be  tempted  to  leave  off  praying:  still 
'  one  could  not  live  without  it;  it  is  like  port  wine  to  a 
sick  man.' 

"  She  says  she  finds  a  great  support  in  the  letters  of  Sir 
(  harles  to  his  mother  —  his  most  precious  gift  to  her.  She 
said  touchingly  how  she  knew  that  even  to  her  he  had  a 
slight  reserve,  but  that  to  his  mother  he  poured  out  his 
whole  soul.  In  those  letters  she  had  learnt  how,  when  he 
was  absent,  his  mother  hungered  after  him,  and  perhaps,  in 
all  those  blessed  years  Avhen  she  had  him,  his  mother  was 
hungering  after  him.  In  giving  him  up,  she  felt  she  gave 
him  up  to  her:  he  was  with  her  now,  and  from  those 
letters  she  knew  what  their  communion  must  be.      '  I  know 


18G7]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     337 

he  is  with  her  now,  for  "  I  have  seen  my  mother,  I  have 
seen  my  mother,"  he  twice  rapturously  exclaimed  when 
he  was  dying.'  How  touching  and  how  consoling  are 
those  visions  on  this  side  of  the  portal.  Old  Mr.  Harford, 
when  he  was  dying,  continually  asked  his  wife  if  she  did 
not  hear  the  music.  '  Oh,  it  is  so  wonderful,'  he  said, 
4  bands  upon  bands. '  She  did  not  understand  it  then  but 
she  knows  now. 

" '  It  was  beautifully  ordered, '  said  Lady  Eastlake,  '  that 
my  "History  of  Our  Lord"  was  finished  first:  I  could  not 
have  done  it  now.  And  through  it  I  learnt  to  know  his 
library.  My  darling  was  like  a  boy  jumping  up  and  down 
to  find  the  references  I  wanted,  and,  if  possible,  through 
the  book  I  learnt  to  know  him  better. ' 

"She  spoke  of  his  wonderful  diligence.  When  he  was  a 
boy  he  wrote  to  his  mother,  '  London  will  be  illuminated 
to-morrow,  I  shall  draw  all  night. ' 

In  July  I  spent  a  few  days  with  the  Alfords  at 
the  Deanery  of  Canterbury,  which  was  always  most 
enjoyable,  the  Dean  so  brimming  with  liveliness  and 
information  of  every  kind.  In  the  delightful  garden 
grows  the  old  historic  mulberry-tree,1  about  which  it 
used  to  be  said  that  the  Deans  of  Canterbury  sit 
under  the  mulberry  till  they  turn  purple,  because 
those  Deans  were  so  frequently  elevated  to  the  epis- 
copal bench,  and  bishops  formerly,  though  it  is  rare 
now,  always  wore  purple  coats.  I  dined  out  with 
the  Dean  several  times.  I  remember  at  one  of  the 
parties  a  son  of  Canon  Blakesly  saying  to  me  —  what 
I  have  often  thought  of  since  —  "I  find  much  the 
best  way  of  getting  on  in  society  is  never  to  be  able 
to  understand  why  anybody  is  to  be  disapproved  of." 

1  See  vol.  i.,  p.  359. 
vol.  u.  —  22 


:;:;s 


THE    STORY    OK    MY    LIKE 


[1867 


Both  the  Dean's  daughters  were  married  now.  and 
he  cordially  welcomed  my  companionship,  always 
treating  me  as  an  intimate  friend  or  relation.  No 
one  could  be  more  sympathetic,  for  he  had  always 
the  rare  power  of  condemning  the  fault,  but  not  the 
action  of  it.1  I  insert  a  few  snatches  from  his  table- 
talk,  though  they  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  man. 


a> 


IN  THE  DEAN'S  GARDEN,  CANTERBURY.2 


"We  have  been  studying  Butler's  Analogy  ever  since 
we  came  back  from  Rome,  for  we  \e  had  eight  different 
butlers  in  the  time.  The  last  butler  said  to  me,  '  It 's  not 
you  who  govern  the  Deanery,  and  it 's  not  Mrs.  Alford, 
but  it  is  the  upper  housemaid.'  " 

"Archbishop  Harcourt  was  very  fond  of  hunting,  so 
fond  that  he  was  very  near  refusing  the  archbishopric 
because  he  thought  if  he  accepted  he  should  have  to  give 

1  See  Shakespeare,  "Measure  for  Measure." 

2  Eroin  "  Biographical  Essays." 


Jyfyr^Kcts?"  <_J%s??^rtstevis  J^h&risC&y, 


1867]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     339 

it  up.  He  consulted  a  friend,  who  said  that  he  must  take 
counsel  with  others.  '  Of  course  I  should  never  join  the 
meet,'  said  the  Archbishop,  '  but  you  know  I  might  fall  in 
with  the  hounds  by  accident. '  After  some  time  the  friend 
came  back  and  said  that  on  the  whole  the  party  considered 
that  the  Archbishop  might  hunt,  provided  he  did  not 
shout." 

"Archbishop  Manners  Sutton  had  a  wonderfully  ready 
wit.  One  day  a  blustering  vulgar  man  came  up  to  him 
and  said,  '  I  believe,  Archbishop,  that  I  am  a  relation  of 
yours:  my  name  is  Sutton.'  The  Archbishop  quietly 
replied,   'Yes,  but  you  want  the  Manners.'' 

"  When  some  one  was  abusing  our  font  the  other  day,  I 
could  not  help  saying  that,  for  a  font,  I  thought  renais- 
sance peculiarly  appropriate." 

"  I  met  Lady  Mounteagle  the  other  day :  you  know  she 
was  the  sister  — 

'  Of  the  woman  tawny  and  tough  1 
Who  married  the  Master  rude  and  rough 

Who  lived  in  the  house  that  Hope  built.' 

You  know  Hope  gothicised  the  Master's  Lodge  at  Trinity. 
At  the  Whe wells'  '  perpendiculars,'  as  their  large  parties 
were  called,  no  one  was  allowed  to  sit  down :  if  any  one 
ventured  to  do  so,  a  servant  came  and  requested  him  to 
move  on." 

"When  Alice  was  a  little  girl,  I  was  explaining  the 
Apostles'  Creed  to  her.  When  we  came  to  the  point  of 
our  Saviour  descending  into  hell  she  said,  '  Oh,  that  is 
where  the  devil  is,  isn't  it?'  — 'Yes.'  'Then  why 
did  n't  the  devil  run  at  him  and  tear  him  all  to  pieces  ? ' 

In  August  we  spent  some  time  at  the  Deanery 
of  Westminster,  where  Arthur  and  Augusta  Stanley 

1  Mrs.  Whewell. 


340  THE    STOKY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1SG7 

were  always  hospitality  itself,  and,  with  more  than 
the  usual  kindness  of  hosts,  always  urged,  and  almost 
insisted,  on  our  inviting  our  own  friends  to  dinner 
and  luncheon,  making  us,  in  fact,  use  their  house 
and  fortune  as  our  own. 

From  mi/  Journal. 

"July  28,  1867.  In  the  evening,  from  the  gallery  of 
the  Deanery  which  overhangs  the  abbey,  Mother,  Mrs. 
Hall,  and  I  looked  down  upon  the  last  service.  Luther's 
hymn  was  sung  and  the  Hallelujah  chorus,  and  trumpets 
played:  it  was  very  grand  indeed.  The  Bishop  of  Chester 
and  the  Words  worths  dined.  Yesterday  Arthur  showed 
thirty  working-men  over  the  Abbey.  He  pointed  out 
where  Peel  was  buried.  One  of  them  received  it  very 
gravely  in  silence,  and  then,  after  several  minutes,  said, 
'  Well,  it  is  very  extraordinary.  I  've  lived  all  my  life  in 
the  next  county,  and  I  never  knew  that  before:  I  always 
thought  he  was  buried  at  Drayton.  Now  that 's  what  I 
call  information.''" 

"August  3.  It  has  a  weird  effect  at  night  to  look  down 
upon  the  Abbey,  and  see  the  solitary  watchman  walking 
along  the  desolate  aisles  and  the  long  trail  of  light  from 
the  lantern  he  carries  flickering  on  each  monument  and 
death's-head  in  turn.  Hugo  Percy,  who  was  here  the 
'it her  evening,  asked  him  about  his  nights  in  the  Abbey. 
'  The  ghosts  have  been  very  cross  lately,'  he  said. 
'  Palmerston  was  the  last  who  came,  but  Mr.  Cobden 
has  not  come  yet.' 

"  We  have  been  to  Buckingham  Palace  to  see  the  rooms 
which  were  arranged  for  the  Sultan,  which  are  dull  and 
handsome.  The  chief  fact  I  derived  from  the  housekeeper 
was  that  the  Sultan  never  '  goes  to  bed  '  and  never  lies 
down  —  in  fact,  he  cannot,  for  a  third  of  the  imperial  bed 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     341 

at  either  end  is  taken  up  by  a  huge  bolster  in  the  middle 
of  which  he  sits  all  night,  and  reclines  either  way  in  turn. 
There  was  a  picture  of  the  late  Sultan  in  the  room,  and 
of  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  sent  from  Windsor  for  the 


Siilil 


L'aPWi 


7?  m\,  |gs9]  ■! 


COURTYARD,    DEANERV,    WESTMINSTER. 


occasion.     One  room  was  entirely  hung  with  portraits  of 
French  kings  and  their  families." 

From  London  I  went  to  visit  Bishop  Jeune,1  who 
was  most  wonderfully  kind  to  me,  really  giving  np 
his  whole  time  to  me  whilst  I  was  with  him,  and 

1  See  vol.  ii.,  p.  6. 


342  THE   STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1607 

pouring  forth  such  stores  of  information  as  I  had  not 
received  since  the  days  of  Dr.  Hawtrey;  and  it  was 
a  great  pleasure  to  feel,  to  be  quite  sure  —  which  one 
so  seldom  is  —  that  he  liked  my  visit  as  much  as  I 
liked  bein.u  with  him. 

From  in  ij  Journal. 

••  .  I  ugust  10,  1867.  On  the  8th  I  went  to  Peterborough, 
where  I  have  had  a  most  agreeable  visit  at  the  Palace. 
When  I  arrived  at  half -past  seven,  the  family  were  all 
ofone  to  dine  with  Dr.  James,  an  old  Canon  in  the 
Close,  whither  I  followed  them.  He  was  a  charming 
old-fashioned  gentleman,   most  delightful  to  see. 

"In  the  morning  the  Bishop,  wearing  his  surplice  and 
hood,  read  prayers  at  a  desk  in  the  crypted  hall  of  the 
Palace.  Afterwards  we  walked  in  the  garden.  I  spoke 
of  there  being  no  monument  in  the  Cathedral  to  Catherine 
of  Arragon.  '  It  is  owing  to  that  very  circumstance,'  said 
the  Bishop,  '  that  you  are  here  to-day.  If  Catherine  of 
Arragon  had  had  a  tomb,  I  should  never  have  been  Bishop 
of  Peterborough.  When  people  reproached  Henry  VIII. 
with  having  erected  no  monument  to  his  first  wife,  he 
said,  "  The  Abbey  of  Peterborough  shall  be  a  cathedral  to 
her  monument,"  and  he  instituted  the  bishopric;  the  last 
abbot  was  the  first  bishop.'  As  we  passed  the  lavatory  of 
the  old  convent,  the  Bishop  said  that  a  touching  descrip- 
tion was  still  extant  of  its  dedication  and  of  the  number 
of  cardinals,  bishops,  and  priests  who  were  present. 
'How  few  of  them,'  he  said,  'would  have  believed  that 
not  only  their  buildings,  which  they  believed  would  last 
for  ever,  could  become  an  indefinite  ruin,  but  that  their 
Church,  whose  foundations  they  believed  to  be  even  more 
eternally  rooted  in  the  soil,  should  be  cast  out  to  make 
way  for  another  Church,  which  is  already  tottering  on  its 
base    and   divided   against    itself. '     He   said    he    '  firmly 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     343 

believed  that  the  ends  both  of  the  Church  and  monarchy- 
were  close  at  hand,  that  the  power  of  government  was 
even  now  in  the  hands  of  a  few  individuals,  who  were  in 
their  turn  in  the  hands  of  a  few  Irish  priests. ' 

"  While  passing  through  the  garden  in  returning  to  the 
Palace,  the  Bishop  showed  me  a  white  fig-tree  growing- 
out  of  the  old  wall  of  the  refectory  and  abundantly  bear- 
ing fruit.  '  This, '  he  said,  k  I  believe  to  be  the  white  fig- 
tree  which  is  nearest  to  the  Pole.'  Passing  a  fine  mul- 
berry-tree he  said,  '  We  owe  that  to  James  I.,  as  he  was 
so  excessively  anxious  to  promote  the  manufacture  of  silk, 
that  he  recommended  to  every  one  the  cultivation  of  the 
mulberry-tree,  but  especially  to  the  clergy,  and  those  of 
the  clergy  planted  it  who  wished  to  stand  well  with  him. 
Therefore  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  many 
of  our  cathedrals. ' 

"  Afterwards  the  Bishop  showed  the  old  chronicle  of  the 
Abbey,  which  he  had  had  splendidly  restored  at  Oxford. 
He  read  me  some  Latin  verses  which  had  evidently  been 
inserted  by  one  of  the  monks  descriptive  of  his  amours. 
'  Yet, '  said  the  Bishop,  '  these  sins  of  the  monk  were  prob- 
ably only  sins  of  the  imagination,  quite  as  vivid  as  real 
ones.  You  know, '  he  added,  '  there  are  far  more  acted 
than  enacted  sins,  and  the  former  are  really  far  the  more 
corrupting  of  the  two.' 

"  In  the  afternoon  we  drove  to  Croyland.  The  Bishop 
talked  the  whole  way.  I  spoke  of  his  patronage,  and 
envied  the  power  it  gave  him;  he  bitterly  lamented  it. 
He  said,  '  I  have  in  my  gift  three  canonries,  two  arch- 
deaconries, and  sixty  livings,  and  if  any  of  these  fell 
vacant  to-morrow,  I  should  be  at  my  wit's  end  whom  to 
appoint.  On  the  average,  two  livings  fall  vacant  every 
year,  and  then  comes  my  time  of  trouble.  A  bishop  who 
would  appoint  the  best  man  would  be  most  unpopular  in 
his  diocese,  for  every  one  of  his  clergy  would  be  offended 
at  not  being  considered  the  best.'     With  regard  to  the 


•  Ill 


THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1867 


eanonries,  I  suggested  that  lie  could  find  no  difficulty,  as 
he  might  always  choose  men  who  were  employed  in  some 
great  literary  work.  The  Bishop  allowed  that  this  was 
exactly  what  he  desired,  but  that  no  such  men  were  to  be 
found  in  his  diocese.  There  were  many  very  respectable 
clergy,  but  none  more  especially  distinguished  than  the 
rest.     He  said   that  when  he  was  appointed  bishop,  Dr. 


■ 


PALACE    GARDEN,    PKTERHOROIT,H. 


Vaughan  advised  him  never  to  become  what  he  called  '  a 
carpet-bag  bishop,'  but  that  this,  in  fact,  was  just  what 
he  had  become:  that  when  he  was  going  to  preach  in  a 
village  and  sleep  in  a  clergyman's  house,  he  did  not  like 
to  trouble  them  by  taking  a  man-servant,  and  that  he  often 
arrived  carrying  his  own  carpet-bag.  That  consequently 
he  often  never  had  his  clothes  brushed,  or  even  his  boots 
blacked,  but  that  he  brushed  his  boots  with  his  clothes- 
brush  as  well  as  he  could,  as  he  was  afraid  of  ringing  his 
bell  for  fear  of  mortifying  his  hosts  by  showing  that  he 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES    AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     345 

had  not  already  got  all  that  he  wanted.  He  said,  how- 
ever, that  the  work  of  a  bishop  was  vastly  overrated,  that 
there  was  nothing  which  did  not  come  within  the  easy 
powers  of  one  man,  yet  that  a  proposition  had  already  been 
made  to  exclude  the  bishops  from  the  House  of  Lords,  to 
reduce  their  incomes  to  £1500,  and  to  double  their 
number.  He  said  that  he  believed  all  Conservatives  had 
better  at  once  emigrate  to  New  Zealand,  and  that  he 
wondered  the  Queen  did  not  invest  in  foreign  funds ;  that 
it  was  utterly  impossible  the  monarchy  could  last  much 
longer;  that  the  end  would  be  hastened  by  the  debts  of 
the  two  princes. 

"  When  we  reached  Croyland  we  went  into  the  Abbey 
Church,  where  the  Bishop  pointed  out  the  baptistery  used 
for  immersion,  and  several  curious  epitaphs,  one  as  late  as 
1729  asking  prayers  for  the  dead.  The  drive  was  most 
curious  over  the  fens,  which  are  now  drained,  but  of 
which  the  soil  is  so  light  that  they  are  obliged  to  marl  it 
all  over  to  prevent  its  being  blown  away.  The  abbey  itself 
is  most  picturesque.  It  was  built  by  St.  Guthlac,  a 
courtier,  who  retired  hither  in  a  boat,  but  who  came  from 
no  desire  of  seclusion  and  prayer,  but  merely  because 
he  longed  for  the  celebrity  which  must  accrue  to  him  as  a 
hermit.  His  sister,  Pega,  became  the  foundress  of 
Peakirk.  The  Bishop  spoke  much  of  the  sublimity  of 
the  conception  under  which  these  great  abbeys  were 
founded  — '  One  God,  one  Pope  as  God's  interpreter,  one 
Church,  the  servant  of  that  Pope,  unity  in  everything.' 
He  spoke  of  the  Jesuit  influence  as  used  to  combat  that 
of  the  Gallican  Church,  and  he  said  that  there  were  now 
only  three  Gallican  bishops. 

"Coming  home,  the  Bishop  talked  about  Wales,  and 
asked  if  I  had  ever  compared  the  military  tactics  of  the 
Romans  with  regard  to  Wales  with  those  of  Edward  I. 
'  The  Romans, '  he  said,  '  built  the  castle  of  Lincoln  for 
the  repression  of  the  savage  people  of  the  fens,  and  with 


34l'»  THE  STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

the  same  idea  built  a  line  of  fortresses  between  England 
and  Wales  for  the  repression  of  the  Welsh ;  but  the  con- 
summate skill  of  Edward  I.  saw  a  better  plan  than  this, 
and  he  lmilt  a  line  of  fortresses  along  the  coast,  which 
could  be  provisioned  from  the  sea.  so  that  if  the  Welsh 
made  a  raid  into  England,  he  could  bring  them  back  by 
falling  upon  their  wives  and  children.' 

"  In  the  evening  the  Bishop  read  aloud  French  poetry,  a 
ballad  of  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  on 
which  Goldsmith  had  evidently  founded  his  '  Madame 
Blaise,'  the  powerful  '  Malbrook, '  and  many  old  hymns; 
also  a  beautiful  hymn  of  Adolph  Monod  on  the  Passion  of 
Christ,  which  he  said  showed  too  much  philosophy.  He 
described  how  he  had  preached  in  Westminster  Abbey  in 
French  during  the  great  Exhibition,  and  the  immense 
power  of  declamation  that  French  gave;  that  he  had 
apostrophised  those  lying  in  the  tombs,  the  dead  kings 
round  about  him,  as  he  never  should  have  ventured  to  do 
in  English.  He  spoke  of  the  transitions  of  his  life,  that 
his  childhood  had  been  passed  amongst  the  rocks  of 
Guernsey,  and  that  he  had  loved  rocks  and  wild  rolling 
seas  ever  since.  That  as  a  child  he  was  never  allowed  to 
speak  French,  as  only  the  lower  orders  spoke  it,  but  that 
he  went  to  the  French  college  of  S.  Servan,  and  there  he 
learnt  it.  Then  came  his  Oxford  life,  after  which,  think- 
ing that  he  was  never  likely  to  have  any  opening  for 
making  his  way  in  England,  he  went  off  to  Canada  in 
despair,  intending  to  become  a  settler  in  the  backwoods. 
The  rough  life,  however,  soon  disgusted  him,  and  in  a 
year  he  returned  to  England,  where  he  became  fellow  and 
tutor  of  his  college.  Thence  he  was  appointed  Dean  of 
Jersey,  and  ruled  there  over  the  petty  community.  Then 
he  was  made  Master  of  Pembroke  (where  he  remained 
twenty  years),  Vice-Chancellor,  Dean  of  Lincoln,  and 
Bishop  of  Peterborough.  He  spoke  of  the  honour  of 
Oxford   men   and    the   consistency   of    the    Hebdomadal 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     347 

Board,  compared  with  others  he  had  to  deal  with.  In 
Jersey,  as  a  matter  of  course,  all  his  subordinates  voted 
with  their  Dean.  When  he  came  to  Oxford  he  expected 
the  same  subserviency,  and  looked  on  all  his  colleagues 
with  suspicion,  but  he  was  soon  convinced  of  their  upright- 
ness. He  said  touchingly  that,  when  near  the  grave,  on 
looking  back,  it  all  seemed  much  the  same  —  the  same 
pettiness  of  feeling,  the  same  party  strife,  only  he  did  not 
worry  himself  about  it;  they  were  all  in  the  hands  of  One 
who  died  for  all  alike;  that  now  there  were  changes  in 
everything  —  only  One  was  unchanged. 

"Speaking  of  the  morality  of  Italy,  he  said  that  his 
friend  Mr.  Hamilton,  head  of  a  clan,  had  met  '  Sandy,' 
one  of  his  men,  travelling  between  Rome  and  Naples. 
After  expressing  Ms  surprise  at  seeing  him  there,  he  asked 
what  he  thought  of  Rome  and  Naples.  '  Wal, '  said 
Sandy,  '  I  jist  think  that  if  naething  happens  to  Rome  and 
Naples,  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  very  unjustly  dealt 
with.' 

" '  I  met  Gioberti  in  Italy, '  said  the  Bishop,  '  and  asked 
him  about  the  Pope.  "C'est  une  femme  vertueuse,"  he 
replied,  "mais  c'est  tou jours  une  femme."  ' 

"The  Bishop  said  that,  when  younger,  he  wished  to 
have  written  a  series  of  Bampton  Lectures  (and  began 
them)  on  the  History  of  the  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's 
Supper.  He  intended  to  begin  with  a  description  of  three 
scenes  —  first,  the  supper  in  the  upper  chamber  at  Jerusa- 
lem; then  the  Pope  officiating  at  the  altar  of  the  Lateran; 
then  a  simple  Scotch  meeting  in  the  Highlands  —  and  he 
would  proceed  to  describe  what  had  led  to  the  differences 
between  these ;  how  the  Agape  was  arranged  as  a  point  at 
which  all  divisions  and  dissensions  should  be  laid  aside; 
how  it  was  set  aside  after  sixty  years  by  the  Roman 
Emperor;  then  of  the  gradual  growth  of  the  Eucharist, 
till  oaths  were  taken  on  the  wafer,  and  deeds  were  sealed 
with  it  to  give  them  a  solemnity ;  and  till,  finally,  it  came 


348  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

to  be  regarded  as  the  actual  body  of  Christ;  then  of  the 
gradual  rise  of  all  the  different  theories,  the  impanation, 

tin-  i urination  of  the  Saviour. 

"This  morning  the  Bishop  asked  if  I  knew  what  was 
the  difference  between  the  entrance  of  a  field  in  France 
and  England.  'In  England,'  he  said,  'it  in  a,  gate  to  let 
people  in;  in  France  a  barrihre  to  keep  people  out:  from 
this  you  might  proceed  to  theorise  that  England  was  a 
country  where  sheep  mighl  stray,  but  France  not:  England 
a  country  for  milk  and  flesh,  France  for  coin  and  wine.' 

"The  Bishop  said  he  knew  our  Roman  acquaintance 
Mr.  Goldsmid  well.  '  I  met  Nat  Goldsmid  in  Paris  about 
the  time  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  affair,  and  I  said 
to  him,  ""Goldsmid,  now  why  has  your  Church  done  this? 
for  you  know  you  all  worshipped  the  Virgin  as  much  as 
you  could  before,  and  what  more  can  you  do  for  her 
now?"  —  "Yes,"  he  said,  "that  is  quite  true;  we  all 
worshipped  the  Virgin  before,  but  we  hare  done  this  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  declaring  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope. 
A  Pope  who  could  take  upon  himself  to  declare  such  a 
dogma  as  this  must  be  infallible!"'" 

From  Peterborough  I  went  to  stay  at  Lincoln  with 
Mrs.  Nicholas  Bacon,  mother  of  the  premier  baronet, 
a  very  pretty  old  lady,  who  reminded  me  of  the  old 
lady  in  "  David  Copperfield,"  finding  her  chief  occu- 
pation in  rapping  at  her  window  and  keeping  the 
Minster  green  opposite  free  from  intruding  children, 
and  unable  to  leave  home  for  any  time  because  then 
they  would  get  beyond  her  —  "so  sacrilegious,"  she 
told  them,  it  was  to  play  there.  Going  with  her  to 
dine  with  that  Mrs.  Ellison  of  Sugbrooke  who  has 
bequeathed  a  fine  collection  of  pictures  to  the  nation, 
I  met  the  very  oldest  party  of  people  I  ever  saw  in 


1867]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN    TRIALS     349 

my  life,  and  as  one  octogenarian  tottered,  in  after 
another,  felt  more  amazed,  till  Mrs.  Ellison  laugh- 
ingly explained  that,  as  Mrs.  Bacon  had  written  that 
she  was  going  to  bring  "  a  very  old  friend  "  of  hers, 
she  had  supposed  it  would  be  agreeable  to  him  to 
meet  as  many  as  possible  of  his  contemporaries ! 
Afterwards,  when  staying  with  Mr.  Clements  at 
Gainsborough,  I  saw  Stowe,  which,  as  an  old  cathe- 
dral was  the  predecessor  of  Lincoln  —  very  curious 
and  interesting.  Thence  I  went  to  Doncaster,  arriv- 
ing in  time  to  help  Kate !  with  a  great  tea-party  to 
her  old  women.  She  asked  one  old  woman  how  she 
was.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  be  middling  upwards, 
but  I  be  very  bad  downwards.  I  be  troubled  with 
such  bad  legs;  downright  dangerous  legs  they  be." 
After  visits  at  Durham,  Cullercoats,  and  Ridley  Hall, 
I  went  to  stay  with  the  Dixon-Brownes  at  Unthank 
in  Northumberland. 

To  my  Mother. 

"  Unthank,  August  27,  1867.  I  spent  yesterday  morn- 
ing in  my  Northern  home  (at  Ridley),  which  is  in  perfect 
beauty  now  —  the  Allen  water,  full  and  clear,  rushing  in 
tiny  waterfalls  among  the  mossy  rocks,  ah  the  ferns  in 
full  luxuriance,  and  the  rich  heather  in  bloom,  hanging 
over  the  crags  and  edging  the  walks.  At  six  o'clock  the 
flag  was  raised  which  stops  all  trains  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  and  I  came  the  wee  journey  of  seven  miles  down 
the  lovely  Tyne  valley  to  Haltwhistle.  Unthank  is  the 
old  home  of  Bishop  Ridley,  the  house  to  which  he  wrote 
his  last  letter  before  the  stake,  addressed  to  '  my  deare 
sister  of  Unthanke, '  —  and  it  is  a  beautiful  spot  in  a  green 
hollow,  close  under  the  purple  slopes  of  the  grand  moor 

1  Mrs.  C.  Vaughan.     Dr.  Vaughan  was  now  Vicar  of  Doncaster. 


350  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1S07 

called  Plenmellor.  The  house  is  modern,  but  has  an  old 
tower,  and  a  garden  splendid  in  gorgeous  colouring  sweeps 
up  the  hill  behind  it.  To-day  we  went  up  through  a 
romantic  gill  called  'The  Heavenly  Hole  '  to  Plenmellor 
Tarn,  a  lovely  blue  lake  in  the  midst  of  the  heather-clad 
hills.  We  spoke  of  it  to  an  old  man  there,  '  Aye,'  he  said 
'it's  jist  a  drap  of  water  left  by  the  Fluid,  and  niver 
dried  up.'  " 

"Bonnyrigg,  August  30.  This  shooting  lodge  of  Sir 
Edward  Blackett  is  cpuite  in  the  uninhabited  moorlands, 
but  has  lovely  views  of  a  lake  backed  by  craggy  blue  hills 
—  just  what  my  sweet  mother  would  delight  to  sketch. 
Lady  Blackett  is  very  clever  and  agreeable.1  We  have 
been  a  fatiguing  walk  through  the  heather  to  '  the  Queen's 
Crag,'  supposed  to  be  Guinevere  turned  into  stone." 

"  Bamborough  Castle,  Sept.  7.  I  always  long  especially 
for  my  dearest  mother  in  this  grand  old  castle,  to  me 
perhaps  the  most  delightful  place  in  the  world,  its  wild 
scenery  more  congenial  than  even  beautiful  Italy  itself. 
Nothing  too  can  be  kinder  than  the  dear  old  cousins.2  .  .  . 
It  was  almost  dark  when  we  drove  up  the  links  and  under 
all  the  old  gateways  and  through  the  rock  entrance:  the 
light  burning  in  Mrs.  Liddell's  recess  in  the  court-room. 
And  it  was  pleasant  to  emerge  from  the  damp  into  the 
brightly  lighted  tapestried  chamber  with  the  dinner  set 
out.  All  yesterday  the  minute-gun  was  booming  through 
the  fog  to  warn  ships  off  the  rocks  —  such  a  strangely 
solemn  sound. 

"  Mr.  Liddell  was  speaking  to  an  old  Northumbrian  here 
about  the  organ  yesterday,  and  he  said,  '  I  canna  bear  the 
loike  o'  that  kist  o'  whistles  a-buzzin'  in  my  ears.' ' 

1  Frances  Vere,  2nd  wife  of  Sir  Edward  Blackett  of  Matfen,  and 
daughter  of  Sir  William  Lorraine. 

Rev.  Henry  and  Mrs.  Liddell  of  Easington. 


2 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES    AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     351 

"  The  Lodge,  North  Berwick,  Sept  9.  I  find  my  sweet 
hostess,  Mrs.  Dalzel,1  little  altered,  except  perhaps  more 
entirely  heavenly  than  before  in  all  her  thoughts  and 
words.  '  I  am  very  near  the  last  station  now, '  she  says, 
'  and  then  I  shall  be  at  home.  I  am  the  last  of  fifteen, 
and  I  can  think  of  them  all  there  —  my  mother,  my  sisters, 
one  after  another,  resting  upon  their  Saviour  alone,  and 
now  with  Him  for  ever !  '  '  When  one  is  old,  the  wonder- 
ful discoveries,  the  great  works  of  man  only  bewilder  one 
and  tire  one ;  but  the  flowers  and  the  unfolding  of  Nature, 
all  the  wonderful  works  of  God,  refresh  and  interest  as 
much  as  ever:  and  may  not  it  be  because  these  interests 
and  pleasures  are  to  be  immortal,  amid  the  flowers  that 
never  fade  ? ' 

"  Mr.  Dalzel  does  not  look  a  day  older,  but  he  sat  at 
dinner  with  a  green  baize  cloth  before  him  to  save  his 
eyes.  We  dined  at  five,  and  another  Mrs.  Dalzel  came, 
who  sang  Scottish  songs  most  beautifully  in  the  evening. 
Mr.  Dalzel  prayed  aloud  long  extemj^ore  prayers,  and  we 
dispersed  at  ten.  Before  dinner  I  went  to  the  sands  with 
Mrs.  Allen  Dalzel,2  who  was  very  amusing:  — 

"'  The  old  Dalzel  house  is  at  Binns  near  Linlithgow. 
The  first  Dalzel  was  an  attendant  of  one  of  the  early 
Kenneths.  The  king's  favourite  was  taken  by  his  enemies 
and  hanged  on  a  tree.  "Who  will  dare  to  cut  him 
down?"  said  the  king.  "Dalzel,"  or  "I  dare,"  said  the 
attendant,  who  cut  him  down  with  his  dagger.  Hence 
came  the  name,  and  hence  the  Dalzels  bear  a  dagger  as 
their  crest,  with  the  motto  "I  dare,"  and  on  their  arms  a 
man  hanging. 

"'  At  Binns  there  are  trees  cut  in  the  shape  of  men 
hanging.  There  is  also  a  picture  of  the  "tyrannous 
Dalzel,"  who  persecuted  the  Covenanters,  and  who  made  a 

1  Nee  Aventina  Macmurdo.     See  vol.  ii.  p.  18. 

2  Daughter-in-law  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dalzel.  Their  son,  a  very  dis- 
tinguished young  man,  died  before  them. 


352  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1867 

vow  at  (1h>  death  of  Charles  I.  that  he  would  never  shave 
again  or  change  his  costume.  He  lived  for  fifty  yeaia 
after  that,  but  he  never  cut  his  heard,  and  he  is  repre- 
sented in  his  odd  suit  of  chamois  leather,  with  a  high- 
peaked   hat  and   his   hair  down  to  his  waist. 

"'  His  comrade  was  (irierson  of  Lag,  whose  eye  was  the 
most  terrible  ever  seen.  Long  after  the  persecution  was 
over,  he  was  told  that  a  servant  in  the  house  had  a  great 
curiosity  to  see  him.  "  Let  him  bring  me  a  glass  of  wine," 
said  Grierson.  The  servant  brought  it  in  upon  a  salver, 
(irierson  waited  till  he  came  close  up,  and  then,  fixing  his 
eye  on  him,  exclaimed,  "Are  there  onv  Whigs  in  Galloway 
noo?"  and  the  effect  was  so  terrible  that  the  servant 
d  lopped  the  salver,  glass  and  all,  and  rushed  out  of  the 
room. 

"'I  used  to  go  and  teach  Betty  O'Brien  to  read  when 
we  lived  at  Seacliffe.  Her  mother  was  a  clean  tidy  body, 
and,  though  she  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world,  she  was 
very  proud,  for  she  came  from  the  North  of  Ireland,  and 
looked  down  upon  all  who  came  from  the  South.  I  asked 
her  why  she  did  not  make  friends  with  her  neighbours, 
and  she  said,  "  D'  ye  think  I  'd  consort  \vi'  the  loike  o' 
them,  just  Connaught  folk?"  So  on  this  I  changed  the 
subject  as  quick  as  I  could,  for  I  just  came  from  Connaught 
myself. 

"k  Her  daughter,  however,  married  one  of  those  very 
Connaught  Irish  —  what  she  called  "the  boy  O'Flinn," 
and  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  afterwards; 
and  she  lay  in  wait  for  "the  boy  O'Flinn,"  and  threw  a 
stone  at  him,  which  hit  him  in  the  chest  so  badly  that  he 
was  in  bed  for  a  week  afterwards.  When  I  heard  of  this, 
I  went  to  see  her  and  said.  "  Well,  Betty,  you  're  Irish, 
and  I  'm  Irish,  and  I  think  we  just  ought  to  set  a  good 
example  and  show  how  well  Irishwomen  can  behave." 
But  she  soon  cut  short  my  little  sermon  by  saying, 
*  They 've  been  telling  tales  o'  me,  have  they?  and  it's 


1867]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     353 

not  off  you  they  keep  their  tongues  neither:  they  say 
you  're  a  Roman  !  "  I  did  not  want  to  hear  any  more,  and 
was  going  out  of  the  cottage,  when  she  called  after  me  in 
a  fury,  "7  know  what  you've  been  staying  so  long  in 
Edinburgh  for;  you  just  stay  here  to  fast  and  to  pray,  and 
then  you  go  there  to  feast  and  drink  tay."  '  " 

"Sept.  10.  I  wish  for  my  dearest  mother  every  hour  in 
this  sanctuary  of  peace  and  loving-kindness,  with  the 
sweet  presence  of  Mrs.  Dalzel.  What  she  is  and  says  it 
is  quite  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of;  but  she  is  truly 
what  Milton  describes  — 

"  Insphered 
In  regions  mild  of  calm  and  air  serene, 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot 
Which  men  call  earth." 

Her  constant  communion  with  heaven  makes  all  the  world 
to  her  only  a  gallery  of  heavenly  pictures,  creating  a  suc- 
cession of  heavenly  thoughts,  and  she  has  so  sweet  and 
gentle  a  manner  of  giving  these  thoughts  to  others,  that 
all,  even  those  least  in  unison  with  her,  are  equally 
impressed  by  them.  Most  striking  of  all  is  her  large- 
heartedness  and  admiration  of  all  the  good  people  who 
disagree  with  her.  Her  daughter-in-law  has  quite  given 
up  everything  else  in  her  devotion  to  her:  it  is  really 
Ruth  and  Naomi  over  again. 

"This  afternoon  we  drove  to  Tantallon  and  on  to 
Seacliffe,  a  most  beautiful  place  on  the  coast,  where  Mrs. 
Dalzel  lived  formerly.  A  delightful  little  walk  under  a 
ruined  manor-house  and  through  a  wood  of  old  buckthorn 
trees  led  down  to  the  sea,  and  a  most  grand  view  of 
Tantallon  rising  on  its  red  rocks.  We  walked  afterwards 
to  '  Canty  Bay, '  so  called  because  the  Covenanters  sang 
Psalms  there  when  they  were  being  embarked  for  the 
Bass. 

vol.  ii.  — 23 


35  1  THE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1867 

•••  How  curious  it  would  be,'  .Mrs.  Dalzel  has  been  say- 
ing, '  if  all  tlic  lines  on  people's  faces  had  writing  on  them 
to  say  what  brought  them  there.  What  strange  tales  they 
would  tell! 

"'  Oh,  what  it  is  to  be  at  peace!  at  perfect  peace  with 
God!  in  perfect  reliance  on  one's  Saviour!  I  often  think 
it  is  like  a  person  who  has  packed  up  for  a  journey. 
When  all  his  work  is  finished  and  all  his  boxes  are  packed, 
he  can  sit  down  in  the  last  hour  before  his  departure  and 
rest  in  peace,  for  all  his  preparations  are  made.  So  in  the 
Last  hours  of  life  one  may  rest  in  peace,  if  the  work  of 
preparation  is  already  done. 

"'1  used  to  count  the  future  by  years:  now  I  only  do 
it  by  months;  perhaps  I  can  only  do  it  by  weeks. 

'"My  eldest  brother  lived  in  a  great  world.  He  was 
very  handsome  and  much  admired.  As  aide-de-camp  to 
Sir  Ralph  Abercromby,  George  IV.  made  him  his  friend, 
and  many  people  paid  court  to  him.  At  last  one  day  he 
came  to  my  dear  mother,  who  was  still  living  in  her  great 
age,  and  who  had  found  her  Saviour  some  years  before, 
and  said  to  her,  "Mother,  1  feel  that  my  health  is  failing 
and  that  this  world  is  rapidly  slipping  away  from  me,  and 
1  have  no  certain  hope  for  the  next:  what  would  you 
advise  me  to  do?"  And  my  mother  said  to  him,  "My 
dear  sou,  I  can  only  advise  you  to  do  what  I  have  done 
myself,  take  your  Bible  and  read  it  with  prayer  upon  your 
knees,  and  God  will  send  you  light.**  And  my  brother 
did  so,  and  God  granted  him  the  perfect  peace  that  passeth 
understanding.  He  lived  many  years  after  that,  but  his 
health  had  failed,  and  his  Bible  was  his  constant  com- 
panion. When  I  went  to  see  him,  he  used  to  lay  his 
hand  on  the  Book  and  say,  "This  is  my  comforter."  A 
few  years  before  he  died,  a  malady  affected  one  of  his  legs 
which  obliged  him  to  have  the  limb  amputated.  When 
the  operation  was  about  to  commence,  the  doctor  who  was 
standing  by  felt  his  pulse,  and  did  not  find  it  varied  in  the 


1SG7]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     355 

least.  "General  Macnmrdo, "  lie  said,  "you  are  a  hero." 
—  "No,"  said  my  brother  solemnly,  "but  I  hope  I  am  a 
Christian."  And  the  doctor  said  he  felt  the  power  of 
Christianity  from  that  day. 

"  *  From  the  shore  of  another  world  all  my  past  life 
seems  like  a  dream. '  1 

"  I  think  if  one  stayed  here  long,  one  would  quite  feel 
the  necessity  of  sinning  occasionally  to  avoid  the  danger  of 
becoming  intolerant  of  petty  faults  and  unsuitablenesses, 
from  living  with  those  so  entirely  without  them." 

"  Carstairs,  Sept.  18.  This  is  a  large  and  comfortable 
house,  and  Mr.  Monteith  is  busied  with  various  improve- 
ments in  the  grounds.  One  improvement  I  should  cer- 
tainly make  would  be  the  destruction  of  a  horrible  tomb 
of  a  former  possessor  of  the  place,  an  atheist  relation,  with 
an  inscription  '  to  the  Infernal  Deities. '  No  wonder  that 
the  avenue  leading  to  the  tomb  is  said  to  be  haunted." 

It  was  during  this  summer  that  old  Lady  Webster 
died.2  She  had  long  been  a  conspicuous  figure  in 
our  home  neighbourhood,  and  had  seemed  to  possess 
the  secret  of  eternal  youth.  In  my  childhood  she 
reigned  like  a  cmeen  at  Battle,  but  the  Websters  had 
several  years  before  been  obliged  to  sell  Battle  to 
Lord  Harry  Vane  (afterwards  Duke  of  Cleveland), 
chiefly  because  there  were  five  dowager  Lady  Web- 
sters  at  once,  all  drawing  jointures  from  the  already 
impoverished  property.  Of  these  ladies,  three,  usu- 
ally known  as  "  the  good  Lady  Webster,"  "  Grace, 
Lady  Webster,"  and  "the  great  Lady  Webster," 
lived   much   at    Hastings.      When   the   great   Lady 

1  Mrs.  Dalzel  died  October  1871. 

2  Charlotte,  eldest  daughter  of  Robert  Adamson,  Esq.,  and  widow 
of  Sir  Godfrey  Vassall  Webster,  "Bart. 


356  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1867 

Webster  died,  she  left  several  sons,  and  it  was  a 
subject  of  much  comment  at  the  time  that,  when 
her  will  was  opened,  she  was  found  to  have  l<t't 
nothing  to  any  of  them.  Her  will  was  very  short. 
She  left  everything  she  possessed  in  the  world  to  her 
dear  and  faithful  companion  Madame  Bergeret.  It 
excited  many  unkind  remarks,  but  those  who  learnt 
the  real  facts  always  admitted  that,  in  the  crowning 
act  of  her  life,  Lady  Webster  had  only  acted  with 
that  sense  of  justice  and  duty  which  had  ever  been 
her  characteristic.     The  story  is  this  : '  — 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century  there  lived 
at  an  old  manorial  farm  in  Brittany  a  female  farmer  named 
Bero-eret.  Her  ancestors  had  owned  the  farm,  and  had 
cultivated  their  own  land  for  hundreds  of  years,  and 
Madame  Bergeret  herself  was  well  known  and  highly 
respected  through  all  the  neighbouring  country,  charitable 
to  her  poorer  neighbours,  frank,  kind,  and  unfailingly 
hospitable  to  those  in  her  own  rank  of  life.  She  lived 
bounteously,  kept  an  open  house,  and  spent  in  beneficence 
and  hospitality  the  ample  income  which  her  lands  brought 

her. 

One  day  she  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  her  next 
neighbour,  a  man  named  Girard,  in  her  own  class  of  life, 
whose  family  had  always  been  known  to  her  own,  and  who 
had  possessed  the  neighbouring  farm.  Me  told  her  that 
he  felt  slit'  would  be  shocked  to  hear  that  he  had  long 
been  acting  a  part  in  making  himself  appear  much  better 
off  than  he  was;  that  he  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  money  in 
speculation;  that  all  was  on  the  eve  of  being   divulged; 

1  As  taken  down  from  the  narration  of  old  Mr.  Frewen  of  Brick- 
wall,  an  intimate  friend  of  the  Webster  family,  who  generously 
bought  in  all  their  family  portraits  at  the  time  of  their  ruin,  and  kept 
them  till  they  had  the  power  of  redeeming  them. 


1867]     ENGLISH    PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     357 

that  if  he  could  manage  to  keep  things  going  till  after  the 
next  harvest,  he  might  tide  over  his  misfortunes,  but  that 
otherwise  he  must  be  totally  ruined,  lose  everything  he 
had,  and  bring  his  wife  and  children  to  destitution;  and 
by  the  recollection  of  their  old  neighbourhood  and  long 
intimacy  he  adjured  Madame  Bergeret  to  help  him. 
Madame  Bergeret  was  very  sorry  —  very  sorry  indeed, 
but  she  told  him  that  it  was  impossible;  and  it  really  was. 
She  lived  amply  up  to  her  income,  she  had  laid  nothing 
by:  she  was  well  off,  but  all  she  had  came  from  her 
hands;  her  income  depended  upon  her  harvest;  she  really 
had  nothing  to  give  to  her  poor  neighbour,  and  she  told 
him  so  —  told  him  so  with  a  very  heavy  heart,  and  he  went 
away  terribly  crestfallen  and  miserable. 

When  Girard  was  gone,  Madame  Bergeret  looked  round 
her  room,  and  she  saw  there  a  collection  of  fine  old  gold 
plate,  such  as  often  forms  the  source  of  pride  to  a  Breton 
yeoman  of  old  family,  and  descends  like  a  patent  of  nobil- 
ity from  one  generation  to  another,  greatly  reverenced  and 
guarded.  Madame  Bergeret  looked  at  her  plate,  and  she 
said  to  herself,  "  If  this  was  sold,  it  would  produce  a  very 
large  sum ;  and  ought  I,  for  the  sake  of  mere  family  pride, 
to  allow  an  old  and  honourable  family  to  go  to  destitu- 
tion?" And  she  called  her  neighbour  back,  and  she  gave 
Girard  all  her  gold  plate.  The  sum  for  which  he  was  able 
to  sell  it  helped  him  through  till  after  the  harvest;  soon 
afterwards  he  found  an  opportunity  of  disposing  of  his 
Breton  lands  to  very  great  advantage,  and  removed  to 
another  part  of  the  country.  He  thanked  Madame 
Bergeret,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  realise  that  she  had  made 
any  great  sacrifice  in  his  behalf ;  and  she,  resting  satisfied 
in  having  done  what  she  believed  to  be  right,  expected 
no  more. 

Some  years  afterwards,  Madame  Bergeret,  being  an 
old  woman,  placed  her  Breton  lands  in  the  hands  of  an 
agent,  and  removed  with  her  two  children  to  Paris.     The 


358  THE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1867 

great  French  Revolution  occurred  while  she  \v;is  there, 
and  the  Reign  of  Terror  came  on,  and  Madame  Bergeret, 
who  belonged  to  a  Royalist  family  of  loyal  Brittany,  was 
arrested:  she  was  thrown  into  the  prison  of  La  Force,  and 
she  was  condemned  to  death. 

'I'lie  Madame  Bergeret  I  knew  in  another  generation 
recollected  being  with  her  little  brother  in  a  room  on  the 
line  St.  Honord  on  the  day  on  which  a  hundred  and 
twenty  persons  were  to  suffer  in  the  Place  Louis  XV. 
She  saw  them  pass  down  the  street  to  execution  in  twenty- 
two  tumbrils;  but  when  the  last  tumbril  came  beneath  the 
window,  the  friends  who  were  with  her  in  the  room  drew 
down  the  blinds;  not,  however,  before  she  had  recognised 
her  own  mother  in  that  tumbril,  with  all  her  hair  cut  off, 
that  the  head  might  come  off  more  easily. 

All  the  way  to  the  place  of  execution,  Madame  Bergeret 
consoled  and  encouraged  her  companions,  and  she  assented 
to  their  petition  that  she  should  suffer  last,  that  she  would 
see  them  through  the  dread  portal  before  her.  Therefore, 
when  her  turn  at  length  came,  the  ground  around  the 
scaffold  was  one  sea  of  blood,  for  a  hundred  and  nineteen 
persons  had  perished  that  t\,\y.  Thus,  on  descending  the 
steps  of  the  cart,  Madame  Bergeret  slipped  and  stumbled. 
This  arrested  the  attention  of  the  deputy  who  was  set  to 
watch  the  executions.  He  started,  and  then  rushed  for- 
ward saying,  "This  woman  has  no  business  here.  I  know 
her  very  well;  she  is  a  most  honest  citoyenne,  or,  if  she 
is  not,  I  know  quite  well  how  to  make  her  so:  this  woman 
is  not  one  to  be  guillotined."     It  was  (iirard. 

Now  Madame  Bergeret  was  quite  prepared  for  death, 
but  the  sudden  revulsion  of  her  deliverance  overcame  her 
and  she  fainted,  (iirard  carried  her  away  in  his  arms, 
and  when  she  came  to  herself  she  was  in  bed  in  a  house  in 
a-  quiet  back-street  of  Paris,  and  he  was  watching  over 
her.  He  had  removed  to  Lyons,  and,  with  the  sudden 
changes  of  the   time,   had   risen  to  be  deputy,  and  being 


1867]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     359 

set  to  watch  the  executions,  had  recognised  the  woman 
who  had  saved  him.  By  the  help  of  Girard,  and  after 
many  hairbreadth  escapes,  Madame  Bergeret  reached  the 
coast,  and  eventually  arrived  in  England.  She  then  made 
her  way  to  the  only  person  she  knew,  a  lady  who  had  once 
spent  some  time  in  her  Breton  village,  a  Mrs.  Adamson. 
Her  daughter  played  with  and  was  brought  up  with  the 
little  Miss  Adamson.  When  Miss  Adamson  married  Sir 
Godfrey  Webster  of  Battle  Abbey,  Mademoiselle  Bergeret 
(her  mother  being  dead)  went  with  her  and  lived  at  Battle 
as  a  sort  of  companion  to  Lady  Webster  and  nursery- 
governess  to  her  boys.  For  fifty  years  she  never  received 
any  salary,  and  having,  through  the  changes  of  things  in 
France,  inherited  something  of  her  mother's  Breton  prop- 
erty, she  twice  sacrificed  her  little  all  to  pay  the  debts  of 
the  Webster  family.  Therefore  it  was  that,  in  the  close 
of  life,  Lady  Webster  felt  that  her  sons  might  provide  for 
themselves,  but  that,  having  very  little  to  bequeath,  the 
one  person  she  could  not  leave  destitute  was  "her  dear 
and  faithful  companion  and  friend,  Madame  Bergeret." 

Five  months  before  her  death,  Lady  Webster  was  very 
full  of  the  terrible  deaths  which  had  lately  occurred  from 
railway  accidents,  and,  on  leaving  home,  she  said  to  Madame 
Bergeret,  "  Here  is  this  paper,  and  if  I  should  be  killed  by 
an  accident  or  not  live  to  come  home,  you  may  read  it; 
but  at  any  rate  keep  it  for  me,  and  perhaps,  if  I  come 
back,  some  day  I  may  want  it  again."  Lady  Webster 
came  back  well  and  did  not  ask  for  the  paper,  and  when 
she  died,  it  was  so  sudden,  a  few  minutes  after  talking 
quite  cheerfully  to  Madame  Bergeret,  that  in  the  shock 
she  remembered  nothing  about  it,  and  it  was  only  long 
afterwards,  when  they  were  making  a  great  fuss  about 
there  being  no  will,  that  she  suddenly  thought  of  the 
paper  entrusted  to  her,  and,  when  it  was  read,  found  Lady 
Webster  had  left  her  all  she  possessed. 

Madame  Bergeret  dying  herself  about  a  year  afterwards, 


3G0  THE   STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [1867 

left  everything  back  to  the  Webster  family.  She  was  a 
quiet  primitive  old  woman,  who  used  to  sit  in  the  back- 
ground at  work  in  Lady  Webster's  sitting-room. 

After  ray  return  home  in  the  autumn  of  1867,  my 
mother  was  terribly  ill,  so  that  our  journey  abroad 
was  a  very  anxious  one  to  look  forward  to.  I  tried, 
however,  to  face  it  quite  cheerily.  I  have  read  in 
an  American  novel  somewhere,  "  It  is  no  use  to  pack 
up  any  worries  to  take  with  you  ;  you  can  always 
pick  up  plenty  on  the  way;'  and  I  have  always 
found  it  true. 

To  Miss  Wright  and  Journal. 

"Nice,  Nov.  17,  1867.  My  dear  Aunt  Sophy  will  be 
delighted  to  see  this  date.  So  far  all  our  troubles  and 
anxieties  are  past,  and  the  sweet  Mother  certainly  not  the 
worse,  perhaps  rather  better  for  all  her  fatigues.  It  is  an 
extraordinary  case,  to  be  one  day  lying  in  a  sort  of  vision 
on  the  portals  of  another  world,  the  next  up  and  travelling. 

"When  we  reached  Paris  she  was  terribly  exhausted. 
then  slept  for  thirty-six  hours  like  a  child,  almost  without 
waking.  At  the  Embassy  we  were  urged  to  go  on  to 
Rome,  all  quiet  and  likely  to  subside  into  a  dead  calm] 
but  so  much  snow  had  fallen  on  Mont  Cenis,  that  in 
Mother's  weak  state  wre  could  not  risk  that  passage,  and 
were  obliged  to  decide  upon  coming  round  by  the  coast. 
On  Monday  we  reached  Dijon,  where  twenty-four  hours 
sleep  again  revived  the  Mother.  It  was  fiercely  cold,  but 
Tuesday  brightened  into  a  glorious  winter's  day,  and  I 
had  a  most  enchanting  walk  through  sunshine  and  bracing 
air  to  Fontaines.  It  is  picturesque  French  country,  a  wind- 
ing road  with  golden  vines  and  old  stone  crosses,  and  a 
distance  of  oddly-shaped  purple  hills.  Fontaines  itself  is 
a  large  village,   full  of  mouldering    mediaeval    fragments, 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     361 

stretching  up  a  hillside,  which  becomes  steeper  towards 
the  top,  and  is  crowned  by  a  fine  old  church,  a  lawn  with 
groups  of  old  walnut-trees,  and  the  remains  of  the  chateau 
where  St.  Bernard  was  born.  Over  the  entrance  is  a 
statue  of  him  and  within,  the  room  of  his  birth  is  preserved 
as  a  chapel.     The  view   from  the    churchyard  is    lovely, 


FONTAINES. 


and  the  graves  are  marked  by  ancient  stone  crosses  and 
bordered  with  flowers.  Within  are  old  tombs  and  inscrip- 
tions — '  Ci-git  la  tres  haute  et  tres  puissante  dame,'  &c. 

"  We  came  on  to  Aries  by  the  quick  night -train,  and 
stayed  there  as  usual  two  days  and  a  half  —  days  of  glaring 
white  sirocco  and  no  colour,  and  at  Aries  we  found  our- 
selves at  once  in  Southern  heat  panting  without  fires  and 
with  windows  wide  open." 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


362 


THE   STORY    OF  MY  LIFE 


[1867 


uPisa,Dec.  1.  We  left  Nice  on  the  21st,  and  slept  at 
Mentone  quite  spoilt  by  building  and  by  cutting  down 
trees.  1  saw  many  friends,  especially  the  Comtesse 
d'Adhemar,  who  flung  her  arms  round  me  and  kissed  nie 
on  both  cheeks.  We  spent  the  middle  of  the  next  day  at 
S.    lienio  and  slept  at  (Jneglia.     The  precipices  are  truly 


hi 


, 


ARC    DE    S.    CESAIRE,    ALISCAMPS,    ARLES.1 


appalling.  I  have  visions  still  of  the  early  morning  drive 
from  Oneglia  along  dewy  hillsides  and  amongst  hoary 
olives,  and  through  the  narrow  gaily  painted  streets  of  the 
Little  fishing-towns,  where  the  arches  meet  overhead  and 
the  wares  set  out  before  the  shop-doors  brush  the  carriage 
as  it  passes  by. 

"The  second  day.  at  Loiano.  I  was  left  behind.  I  went 
jusl  outside  the  hotel  to  draw,  begging  my  mother  and 
Lea  to  pick  me  up  as  the}-  went  by.  The  carriage  passed 
close  by  me  and  they  did  not  see  me.     At  first  I  did  not 

1  From  " South-Eastern  France." 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     363 

hurry  myself,  thinking,  when  they  did  not  find  me,  that 
they  would  stop  for  me  a  little  farther  on ;  but  seeing  the 
carriage  go  on  and  on,  I  ran  after  it  as  hard  as  I  could, 
shouting  at  the  pitch  of  my  voice ;  but  it  never  stopped, 
and  I  quite  lost  sight  of  it  in  the  narrow  streets  of  one  of 
the  fishing-villages  before  reaching  Finale.     At  Finale  I 


M 


AT    SAVONA. 


was  in  absolute  despair  at  their  not  stopping,  which 
seemed  inexplicable,  and  I  pursued  mile  after  mile,  foot- 
sore and  weary,  through  the  grand  mountain  coves  in  that 
part  of  the  Riviera  and  along  the  desolate  shore  to  Noli, 
where,  just  as  night  closed  in,  I  was  taken  up  by  some 
people  driving  in  a  little  carriage,  on  the  box  of  which,  in 
a  bitter  cold  wind,  I  was  carried  to  Savona,  where  I 
arrived  just  as  our  heavy  carriage  with  its  inmates  was 
driving  into  the  hotel.  It  was  one  of  the  odd  instances  of 
my  dear  mother's  insouciance,  of  her  ;  happy-go-lucky ' 
nature :  '  they  had  not  seen  me,  they  had  not  looked  back ; 

1  From  "Northern  Italy." 


.%-}  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

no.  they  supposed  I  should  get  on  somehow;  the}-  knew  I 
always  fell  on  my  legs.'  And  I  was  perfectly  conscious 
that  if  I  had  not  appeared  for  days,  my  mother  would  have 
said  just  the  same.  We  spent  a  pleasant  Sunday  at 
Savona,  the  views  most  beautiful  of  the  wonderfully 
picturesque  tower,  calm  hay  of  sapphire  water,  and  deli- 
cate mountain  distance. 

"The  landlord  of  the  Croce  di  Malta  at  Genoa  engaged 
a  vctturino  to  take  us  to  La  Spezia.  The  first  day,  it  was 
Late  when  we  left  Sta.  Margherita,  where  we  stayed  for 
luncheon.  The  driver  lighted  his  lamps  at  Chiavari. 
Soon  both  my  companions  fell  asleep.  I  sat  up  watching 
the  foam  of  the  sea  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  black  preci- 
pices without  parapets  as  long  as  I  could  see  it  through 
the  gloom:  then  it  became  quite  dark.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  frightful  bolt  of  the  horses,  scream  after  scream 
from  the  driver,  an  awful  crash,  and  we  were  hurled  vio- 
lently over  and  over  into  the  black  darkness.  A  succession 
of  shrieks  from  Lea  showed  me  that  she  was  alive,  but  I 
thought  at  first  my  mother  must  be  killed,  for  there  was 
no  sound  from  her.  Soon  the  great  troop  of  navvies  came 
up,  whose  sudden  appearance  from  the  mouth  of  a  tunnel, 
each  with  a  long  iron  torch  in  his  hand,  had  made  the 
horses  bolt.  One  of  them  let  down  his  torch  into  the 
mired  and  broken  carriage  as  it  lay  bottom  upwards. 
'  Povera,  poveretta, '  he  exclaimed,  as  he  saw  Lea  sitting 
pouring  with  blood  amongst  the  broken  glass  of  the  five 
great  windows  of  the  carriage.  Then  Mother's  voice  from 
the  depth  of  the  hood  assured  us  that  she  was  not  hurt, 
only  buried  under  the  cushions  and  bags,  and  she  had 
courage  to  remain  perfectly  motionless,  while  sheet  after 
sheet  of  broken  glass  was  taken  from  off  her  (she  would 
have  been  cut  to  pieces  if  she  had  moved)  and  thrown  out 
at  the  top  of  the  carriage.  Then  there  was  a  great  consul- 
tation as  to  how  we  were  to  be  got  out,  which  ended  in 
the  carriage  being  bodily  lifted  and  part  of  the  top  taken 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     365 


off,  making  an  opening  through  which  first  Lea  was 
dragged  and  afterwards  the  Mother.  Then  my  mother 
who  had  not  walked  at  all  for  many  weeks,  was  compelled 
to  walk  more  than  a  mile  to  Sestri,  in  pitch  darkness  and 
pouring  rain,  dragged  by  a  navvy  on  one  side  and  me  on 
the  other.     Another  navvy  supported  Lea,  who  was  in  a 


N^|^^%s 


SESTRI. 


fainting  state,  and  others  carried  torches.  We  excited 
much  pity  when  we  arrived  at  the  little  inn  at  Sestri,  and 
the  people  were  most  hospitable  and  kind.  I  had  always 
especially  wished  to  draw  a  particular  view  of  a  gaily 
painted  church  tower  and  some  grand  aloes  on  the  road 
near  Sestri,  and  it  was  curious  to  be  enabled  to  do  so  the 
next   day  by  our  forcible   detention  there  for  want  of  a 


carriage. 


"  On  the  29th  we  crossed  once  more  the  grand  pass  of 
Bracco,  with  its  glorious  scenery  of  billowy  mountains 
ending  in  the  delicate  peaks  of  Carrara ;  and  we  baited  at 

1  From  "Central  Italy." 


366  Tin:  story  of  my  life  [is67 

a  wretched  village  where  Mother  was  aide  to  walk  in  the 
sunny  road.  Xesterday  we  came  here  b\  the  exquisite 
railway      under      .Massa     Ducale,     and     were     rapturously 

welcomed  by  Victoire1  and  her  daughter." 

" Palazzo  Parisani,  Rome,  Dec.  1<>.  We  had  a  weari- 
some journey  here  on  the  3rd,  the  train  not  attempting  to 
keep  any  particular  time,  and  stopping  more  than  an  hour 
at  Orbetello  for  the  4  ilisrurso'  of  the  guard  and  engine- 
driver,2  and  at  other  stations  in  proportion.  However, 
.Mother  quite  revived  when  the  great  masses  of  the  aque- 
ducts began  to  show  in  the  moonlight.  They  had  given 
up  expecting  us  in  the  Palazzo,  where  my  sister  lias  lent 
us  her  apartments,  and  it  was  long  before  we  could  get 
any  one  to  open  the  door. 

"It  has  been  bitterly  cold  ever  since  we  arrived  and 
the  air  filled  with  snow.  The  first  acquaintance  I  saw- 
was  the  Pope!  lie  was  at  the  Trinita  de'  Monti,  and  I 
waited  to  see  him  come  down  the  steps  and  receive  his 
blessing  on  our  first  Roman  morning.  He  looked  dread- 
fully weak,  and  Monsignor  Talbot  seemed  to  be  holding 
him  tight  up  lest  he  should  fall.  The  Neapolitan  royal 
family  I  have  already  seen,  always  in  their  deep  mourning.8 

"The  Pincio  is  still  surrounded  with  earthworks,  and 
the  barricades  remain  outside  the  gates:  a  great  open 
moat  yawns  in  front  of  the  door  of  the  English  Church. 
The  barrack  near  St.  Peter's  is  a  hideous  ruin.  The 
accounts  of  the  battle  of  Mentana  are  awful:  when  the 
Pontiticals  had  expended  all  their  ammunition,  they 
lushed  upon  the  Garihaldians  and  tore  them  with  their 
teeth. 

1  Mine.  Victoire  Ackermann.     See  vol.  i. 

-  Such  was  a  constant  cause  of  detention  in  early  days  of  Italian 
railways,  though  it  seems  impossible  now. 

8  For  the  Queen  Dowager,  who  died  of  the  cholera  at  Albano  in 
the  summer  of  1867. 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     367 

"  Terrible  misery  has  been  left  by  the  cholera,  and  the 
streets  are  far  more  full  of  beggars  than  ever.  The 
number  of  deaths  has  been  frightful  —  Princess  Colonna 
and  her  daughters ;  old  Marchese  Serlupi ;  Midler  the 
painter  and  his  child;  Mrs.  Foljambe's  old  maid  of  thirty 
years;  Mrs.  Ramsay's  donna  and  the  man  who  made  tea 
at  her  parties,  are  amongst  those  we  have  known.  The 
first  day  we  were  out,  Lea  and  I  saw  a  woman  in  deep 
mourning,  who  was  evidently  begging,  look  wistfully  at 
us,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  recognising  Angela,  our 
donna  of  1863.  Her  husband,  handsome  Antonio  the 
fisherman,  turned  black  of  the  cholera  in  the  Pescheria, 
and  died  in  a  few  hours,  and  her  three  children  have  been 
ill  ever  since. 

"Mrs.  Shakespeare  Wood  has  been  to  see  us,  and 
described  the  summer  which  she  has  spent  here  —  six 
thousand  deaths  in  Rome  between  May  and  November, 
sixty  in  the  Forum  of  Trajan,  thirty  in  the  Purificazione 
alone.  The  Government  wisely  forbade  any  funeral 
processions,  and  did  not  allow  the  bells  to  be  tolled,  and 
the  dead  were  taken  away  at  night.  Then  came  the  war. 
The  gates  were  closed,  and  an  edict  published  bidding  all 
the  citizens,  when  they  heard  '  cinque  colpi  di  cannone, 
d'  andare  subito  a  casa. '  The  Woods  laid  in  quantities  of 
flour,  and  spent  £5  in  cheese,  only  remembering  after- 
wards that,  having  forgotten  to  lay  in  any  fuel,  they 
could  not  have  baked  their  bread." 

"Dec.  13.  Yesterday  I  went  to  Mrs.  Robert  De  Selby.1 
She  described  the  excitement  of  the  battles.  In  the  thick 
of  it  all  she  got  a  safe-conduct  and  drove  out  to  Mentana 
to  be  near  her  husband  in  case  he  was  wounded.  She  also 
drove  several  times  to  the  army  with  provisions  and 
cordials.  If  they  tried  to  stop  her,  she  said  she  was  an 
officer's  wife  taking  him  his  dinner,  and  they  let  her  pass. 
1  Contessa  Carolina  di  S.  Giorgio. 


3G8  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1807 

( me  of  the  officers  said  afterwards  to  her  mother,  '  La  sua 
figlia  vale  un  altro  dragone.' 

"She  told  me  Lady  Anne  S.  Giorgio  (her  mother),1  was 
living  in  the  Mercede,  and  I  went  there  at  once.     She  was 

overjoved  to  see  me,  and  embraced  me  with  the  utmost 
affection.  She  is  also  enchanted  to  be  near  the  Mother, 
her  '  saint  in  a  Protestant  niche.  *  She  is  come  here  because 
'  all  the  old  sinners  in  Florence  '  disapproved  of  her  revo- 
lutionary tendencies.  Lady  Anne  remembered  my  father's 
-rent  intimacy  with  Mezzofanti.  She  said  my  father  had 
once  a  servant  who  came  from  an  obscure  part  of  Hungary 
where  they  spoke  a  very  peculiar  dialect.  One  day,  going 
to  Mezzofanti,  he  took  his  servant  with  him.  The  Cardi- 
nal asked  the  man  where  he  came  from,  and  on  his  telling 
him,  addressed  him  in  the  dialect  of  his  native  place. 
The  man  screamed  violently,  and,  making  for  the  door, 
tried  to  escape:  he  took  Mezzofanti  for  a  wizard. 

"  Lady  Anne  recollected  my  father's  extreme  enjoyment 
of  a  scene  of  this  kind.  There  was  a  Dr.  Taylor  who 
used  to  worship  the  heathen  gods  —  Mars  and  Mercury, 
and  the  rest.  One  day  at  Oxford,  in  the  presence  of  my 
lather  and  of  one  of  the  professors,  he  took  his  little  silver 
images  of  the  gods  out  of  his  pocket  and  began  to  pray  to 
them  and  burn  incense.  The  professor,  intensely  shocked, 
tried  to  interfere,  but  my  father  started  up  — '  How  can 
you  be  so  foolish?  do  be  quiet:  don't  you  see  you're  inter- 
rupting the  comedy?'  The  same  Dr.  Taylor  was  after- 
ward arrested  for  sacrificing  a  bullock  to  Neptune  in  a 
back-parlour  in  London !  " 

"44  Piazza  di  Spagna,  Dec.  29.     We  moved  here  on  the 

20th  to  a  delightfully  comfortable  apartment,  which  is  a 

perfect  sun-trap.      Most  truly  luxurious  indeed  does  Rome 

n   after  Cannes  —  food,   house,    carriages,  all  so  good 

and  reasonable.      I  actually  gave  a  party  before   we   left 

1  See  vol.  ii.  p*  86. 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     369 

my  sister's  apartment,  lighting  up  those  fine  rooms,  and 
issuing  the  invitations  in  my  own  name,  in  order  that 
Mother  might  not  feel  obliged  to  appear  unless  quite  equal 
to  it  at  the  moment.  Three  days  after  I  had  another  party 
for  children  —  tea  and  high  romps  afterwards  in  the  long 
drawing-room. 

"  On  the  21st  I  went  with  the  Erskines,  Mrs.  Ramsay 
and  Miss  Garden,  by  rail  to  Monte  Rotondo.  The  quantity 
of  soldiers  at  the  station  and  all  along  the  road  quite 
allayed  any  fears  of  brigands  which  had  been  entertained 
regarding  the  mile  and  a  half  between  the  village  and  the 
railway.  The  situation  proved  quite  beautiful  —  the  old 
houses  crowned  by  the  Piombino  castle,  rising  from  vine- 
yards and  gardens,  backed  by  the  purple  peak  of  Monte 
Gennaro.  Beyond,  in  the  hollow,  is  the  convent  where 
Garibaldi  was  encamped,  and  farther  still  the  battlefield  of 
Mentana. 

"  On  the  23rd  there  was  a  magnificent  reception  at  the 
Spanish  Embassy.  Every  one  went  to  salute  the  new 
ambassador,  Don  Alessandro  del  Castro,  and  the  whole 
immense  suite  of  rooms  thrown  open  had  a  glorious  effect. 
There  was  an  abundance  of  cardinals,  and  the  Roman 
princesses  all  arrived  in  their  diamonds.  The  Borgheses 
came  in  as  a  family  procession,  headed  by  Princess 
Borghese  in  blue  velvet  and  diamonds.  The  young  Eng- 
lish Princess  Teano  looked  lovely  in  blue  velvet  and  gold 
brocade.  On  Christinas  Day  I  went  to  St.  Peter's  for  the 
coming  in  of  the  Pope,  and  stayed  long  enough  to  see 
Francis  II.  arrive  with  his  suite.  In  the  afternoon  1  took 
Lea  to  the  Ara  Cceli  and  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore.  At  the 
Ara  Cceli  great  confusion  prevails  and  much  enthusiasm 
on  account  of  a  new  miracle.  When  people  were  ill, 
upon  their  paying  a  scudo  for  the  carriage,  the  Santo 
Bambino  was  brought  by  two  of  the  monks,  and  left  upon 
the  sick-bed,  to  be  fetched  awav  some  hours  after  in  the 
same  way.     A  sacrilegious  lady  determined  to  take  advan- 

vol.  ii.  —  24 


370  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  fLl8U7 

tage  of  this  to  steal  the  Bambino;  so  she  pretended  her 
child  was  ill  and  paid  herscudo;  bul  as  soon  as  ever  the 
monks  were  gone,  she  had  a  false  Bambino,  which  she  had 
caused  to  be  prepared,  dressed  up  in  the  clothes  of  the  real 
one,  and  when  the  monks  came  hack  they  took  away  the 
false  Bambino  without  discovering  the  fraud,  and  carried 
it  to  the  place  of  honour  in  the  Church  of  Ara  Cceli. 

"That  night  the  convent  awoke  to  fearful  alarm,  every 
bell  rang  at  the  same  moment,  awful  sounds  were  heard  at 
the  doors;  the  trembling  brotherhood  hastened  to  the 
church,  but  loud  and  fast  the  knocks  continued  on  the 
very  door  of  the  sanctuary  ('  bussava,  bussava,  bussava'). 
At  last  they  summoned  courage  to  approach  the  entrance 
with  lights,  and  behold,  a  little  tiny  pink  child's  foot, 
which  was  poked  in  under  the  door;  and  they  opened  the 
door  wide,  and  there  without,  on  the  platform  at  the  head 
of  the  steps,  stood,  in  the  wind  and  the  rain,  quite  naked, 
the  real  Bambino  of  Ara  Cceli.  So  then  the  real  child  was 
restored  to  its  place,  and  the  lady,  confounded  and  dis- 
graced, was  hidden  to  take  the  false  child  home  again. 

"Our  donna,  Louisa,  was  in  ecstasies  when  she  told  us 
this  story  — '  <  >h  com'  e  graziosa,  oh  com'  e  graziosa  questa 
storia!" — and  she  never  can  understand  why  we  do  not 
send  for  the  Bambino  to  cure  Mother  of  all  her  ailments, 
though,  in  consequence  of  the  theft,  it  is  now  never  left 
alone  in  a  house,  but  is  taken  away  by  the  same  monks 
who  bring  it.  Lea  was  imprudent  enough  to  say  she  did 
not  believe  the  Bambino  would  ever  do  her  any  good;  but 
when  Louisa,  looking  at  her  with  wondering  eyes,  asked 
why,  said  weakly,  '  Because  I  have  such  a  bad  heart,'  in 
which  Louisa  quite  acquiesced  as  a  reason. 

"  It  had  been  a  sad  shadow  hitherto  over  all  this  winter 
that  my  sweetest  Mother  had  been  so  ill.  At  Parisani  I 
had  many  sad  days  and  nights  too.  She  suffered  almost 
constantly  from  pain  in  the  back,  and  moaned  in  a  way 
which   went  to   my  very  heart.    .   .    .   Twice   only  in   the 


1867]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     371 

fortnight  was  Mother  able  to  get  out  to  the  Forum  and 
walk  in  the  sun  from  the  Coliseum  to  the  Capitol,  and  she 
felt  the  cold  most  terribly,  and  certainly  the  Palazzo  was 
very  cold. 

"At  first,  when  we  came  to  this  house,  Mother  was 
better,  and  she  was  delighted  with  these  rooms,  which  ful- 
filled a  presentiment  she  had  told  me  of  before  we  left 
home,  that  this  winter  she  should  have  the  pleasantest 
apartment  she  had  ever  had  yet.  But  on  the  21st  she  was 
chilled  when  driving  with  Mrs.  Hall  to  Torre  Quinto,  and 
that  evening  quite  lost  her  power  of  articulation.  It  only 
lasted  about  an  hour.  .  .  .  She  was  conscious  of  it  after- 
wards, and  said,  '  It  was  so  odd,  I  was  not  able  to  speak. ' 
Some  days  after,  though  able  to  articulate,  she  was  unable 
to  find  the  words  she  needed,  calling  the  commonest  things 
by  their  wrong  names,  and  this  was  the  more  alarming  as 
more  likely  to  be  continuous.  On  Thursday  she  was  well 
enough  to  drive  with  me  to  the  Acqua  Acetosa,  and  walk 
there  in  the  sun  on  the  muddy  Tiber  bank,  but  that  even- 
ing she  became  worse,  and  since  then  has  scarcely  been 
out   of  bed." 

"Dec.  30.  On  Saturday  I  was  constantly  restless,  with 
a  sense  of  fire  near  me,  but  could  discover  nothing  burning 
in  the  apartment.  I  had  such  a  strong  presentiment  of 
fire  that  I  refused  to  go  out  all  day.  When  Lea  came  in 
with  my  tea  at  8  p.  m.,  I  told  her  what  an  extraordinary 
noise  I  continually  heard  —  a  sort  of  rushing  over  the 
ceiling,  which  was  of  strained  canvas  —  but  she  thought 
nothing  of  it.  Soon  after  she  was  gone,  a  shower  of 
sparks  burst  into  the  room  and  large  pieces  of  burning 
wood  forced  their  way  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling. 
Shouting  to  Lea,  I  rushed  up  to  the  next  floor,  and  rang 
violently  and  continuously  at  the  bell,  shouting  '  Fuoco, 
fuoco ; '  but  the  owners  of  the  apartment  were  gone  to  bed 
and  would  not  get  up;    so,   without  losing   time,    I    flew 


372  THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

downstairs,  roused  the  porter,  sent  him  off  to  fetch 
Ferdinando  Manetti,  who  was  responsible  for  our  apart- 
ment, and  then  tor  the  pompieri.  Meantime  the  servants 
of  Miss  Robertson,  who  lived  below  us,  had  come  to  our 
help,  and  assisted  in  keeping  the  tire  under  with  sponges 
of  water,  while  Lea  and  I  rushed  about  securing  money, 
valuables,  drawings,  &c,  and  then,  dragging  out  our  great 
boxes,  began  rapidly  to  fill  them.  Mother  was  greatly 
astonished  at  seeing  us  moving  in  and  out  with  great  piles 
of  things  in  our  arms,  but  did  not  realise  at  once  what  had 
happened.  I  had  just  arranged  for  her  being  wrapped  up 
in  blankets  and  carried  through  the  streets  to  Palazzo 
Parisani,  when  the  pompieri  arrived.  From  that  time 
there  was  no  real  danger.  They  tore  up  the  bricks  of  the 
floor  above  us,  and  poured  water  through  upon  the  charred 
and  burning  beams,  and  a  cascade  of  black  water  and  hot 
bricks  tumbled  through  together  into  our  drawing-room." 

To  Miss  Wright. 

"  Jan.  1.  Alas !  I  can  give  but  a  poor  account  of  her  who 
occupies  all  my  real  thoughts  and  interests.  My  sweetest 
Mother  is  still  very,  very  feeble,  and  quite  touchingly  help- 
less. She  varies  like  a  thermometer  with  the  weather,  and 
if  it  is  fine,  is  well  enough  to  see  Mrs.  Hall  and  one  or  two 
friends,  but  she  is  seldom  able  to  be  dressed  before  twelve 
o'clock,  and  often  has  to  lie  down  again  before  four.  I 
seldom  like  to  be  away  from  her  long,  and  never  by  day  or 
night  feel  really  free  from  anxiety." 

Journal. 

"Jan.  2,  1868.  1  have  been  out  twice  in  the  evening 
—  to  Mrs.  lJamsay  to  meet  M.  de  Soveral,  the  ex-minister 
of  Portugal,  and  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  to  Mrs.  Hall 
to  meet  the  Erskines.  Mrs.  Hall  described  a  sermon  she 
had  lately  heard  at  the  Coliseum,  the  sole  object  of  which 
was    the    glorification  of    Mary  Queen  of   Scots.     It  was 


.1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     373 

most  painful,  she  said,  describing  how  Elizabeth,  who 
turned  only  to  her  Bible,  died  a  prey  to  indescribable 
torments  of  mind,  while  Mary,  clinging  to  her  crucifix, 
died  religiously  and  devoutly. 

"  The  Marchesa  Serlupi  has  given  a  fearful  account  of 
the  Albano  tragedy.  The  old  Marchese  had  come  to 
them  greatly  worn  out  with  his  labours  in  attendance  on 
the  Pope  during  the  canonisation,1  and  he  was  seized  with 
cholera  almost  at  once.  When  the  doctor  came,  his  hair 
was  standing  on  end  with  horror.  He  said  he  had  not  sat 
down  for  eighteen  hours,  hurrying  from  one  to  another. 
He  said  the  old  Marchese  had  the  cholera,  and  it  was  no 
use  doing  anything  for  him,  he  would  be  dead  in  a  few 
hours.  The  Marchesa  thought  he  had  gone  mad  with 
fright,  which  in  fact  he  had.  When  he  was  gone,  she 
gave  remedies  of  her  own  to  the  old  man,  which  subdued 
the  cholera  at  the  time,  but  he  sank  afterwards  from 
exhaustion.  During  that  time  the  dead  all  around  them 
were  being  carried  out :  the  Appian  Way  was  quite  choked 
up  by  those  who  were  in  flight,  and  people  were  dying 
among  the  tombs  all  along  the  wayside. 

"As  soon  as  the  old  Marchese  was  dead,  the  Serlupi 
family  determined  to  fly.  As  the  Marchesa  had  been 
constantly  nursing  the  old  man,  she  would  not  take  her 
child  with  her,  and  sent  him  on  first  in  another  carriage. 
When  they  got  half  way,  a  man  came  up  to  them  saying 
that  the  person  who  was  with  the  child  in  the  other  car- 
riage was  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and  they  had  to  take 
the  child  into  their  own  carriage.  At  the  half-way  house 
they  stopped  to  inquire  for  a  party  of  friends  who  had 
preceded  them:  five  had  fled  in  the  carriage,  three  were 
already  dead!  There  was  only  one  remedy  which  was 
never  known  to  fail:  it  was  discovered  by  a  Capuchin 
monk,  and  is  given  in  wine.  It  is  not  known  what  the 
medicine  is,  and  its  effect  entirely  depends  upon  the  exact 

1  Of  the  Japanese  martyrs. 


37  I  THE   STORY  OF  MY  LIFE  [1868 

proportions  being  given.  The  Marchesa  used  to  send 
dozens  of  wine  to  the  Capuchin,  and  then  give  it  away 
impregnated  with  the  medicine  to  the  poor  people  in 
Rome. 

"To-day  my  darling  has  been  rather  better,  and  was 
able  to  drive  for  an  hour  on  the  Pincio.  Yesterday  even- 
ing she  prayed  aloud  for  herself  most  touchingly  before 
both  me  and  Lea,  that  God  would  look  upon  her  infirmi- 
ties, that  He  would  forgive  her  weakness,  and  supply  the 
insufficiency  of  her  prayers.  Her  sweet  pleading  voice, 
tremulous  with  weakness,  went  to  our  hearts,  and  her 
trembling  upturned  look  was  inexpressibly  affecting. 

"Fell.  4.  When  we  first  came  here,  we  were  much 
attracted  by  Francesca  Bengivenga,  a  pleasant  cordial 
woman  who  lets  the  apartment  above  us,  and  who  lived  in 
a  corner  of  it  with  her  nice  respectable  old  mother.  Lea 
went  up  to  see  them,  and  gave  quite  a  pretty  description 
of  the  old  woman  sitting  quietly  in  her  room  at  needle- 
work,   while  the  daughter  bustled  about. 

"On  January  9  we  were  startled  by  seeing  a  procession 
carrying  the  Last  Sacraments  up  our  staircase,  and  on 
inquiry  heard  that  it  was  to  a  very  old  woman  who  was 
dying  at  the  top  of  the  house.  Late  in  the  evening  it 
occurred  to  Lea  that  the  sick  person  at  the  top  of  the 
house  might  perhaps  be  in  want,  and  she  went  up  to 
Francesca  to  inquire  if  she  could  be  of  any  use.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  we  heard  that  it  had  been  Francesca's 
mother  who  had  been  ill,  and  that  she  had  died  an  hour 
after  the  priests  had  been.  Francesca  herself  was  in  most 
terrible  anguish  of  grief,  but  obliged  to  control  herself, 
because  only  a  few  days  before  she  had  let  her  apartment, 
and  did  not  venture  to  tell  her  lodgers  what  had  occurred 
in  the  house.  So  whenever  the  bell  rang,  she  had  to  dry 
her  tears  by  an  effort,  and  appear  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened.    We  urged  her  to  reveal  the  truth,  which  at  length. 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     375 

she  did  with  a  great  burst  of  sobs,  and  the  tenants  took 
it  well.  The  next  day  at  four  o'clock  the  old  woman  was 
carried  away,  and  on  the  following  morning  I  pleased 
Francesca  by  attending  at  the  messa  cantata  in  S.  Andrea 
delle  Fratte. 

"  On  January  10  Charlotte  and  Gina  Leycester  arrived. 
By  way  of  showing  civilities  to  acquaintance,  I  have  had 
several  excursions  to  the  different  hills,  explaining  the 
churches  and  vineyards  with  the  sights  they  contain.  On 
the  Aventine  I  had  a  very  large  —  too  large  a  party. 
With  the  Erskines  I  went  to  San  Salvatore  in  Lauro, 
where  the  old  convent  is  partially  turned  into  a  barrack, 
and  was  filled  with  Papal  Zouaves,  who  spoke  a  most 
unintelligible  jargon  which  turned  out  to  be  High  Dutch. 
A  very  civil  little  officer,  however,  took  us  into  a  grand 
old  chapel  opening  out  of  the  cloisters,  but  now  occupied 
as  a  soldiers'  dormitory,  and  filled  with  rows  of  beds, 
while  groups  of  soldiers  were  sitting  on  the  altar-steps 
and  on  the  altar  itself,  and  had  even  piled  their  arms  and 
hung  up  their  knapsacks  on  the  splendid  tomb  of  Pope 
Eugenius  IV.,  which  was  the  principal  object  of  our  visit.1 
We  went  on  hence  to  the  Vallicella,  where  we  saw  the 
home  and  relics  of  S.  Filippo  Neri  —  his  fine  statue  in  the 
sacristy,  his  little  cell  with  its  original  furniture,  his 
stick,  his  shoes,  the  crucifix  he  held  when  he  was  dying, 
the  coffin  in  which  he  lay  in  state,  the  pictures  which 
belonged  to  him,  and  the  little  inner  chapel  with  the  altar 
at  which  he  prayed,  adorned  with  the  original  picture, 
candlesticks,  and  ornaments. 

"Another  excursion  has  been  to  the  Emporium,  reached 
by  an  unpleasant  approach,  the  Via  della  Serpe  behind  the 
Marmorata,  an  Immondezzajo  half  a  mile  long ;  but  it  is  a 
fine  mass  of  ruin,  with  an  old  gothic  loggia,  in  a  beautiful 
vineyard  full  of  rare  and  curious  marbles.     Close  by,  on 

1  It  is  therefore  not  fair  to  say  that  the  desecration  of  the  Roman 
churches  has  only  occurred  since  the  Sardinian  occupation. 


370  T1IE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1868 

the  I  tank  of  the  Tiber,  the  ancient  port  of  the  Marmorata 
is  now  being  cleaned  out. 

"My  dearest  .Mother  continues  very  ailing  and  terribly 
weak,  but  I  am  hopeful  now  (as  the  cold  months  are  so  far 
advanced),  that  we  may  steer  through  the  remainder  of 
the  winter,  and  that  I  may  once  more  have  the  blessing  of 
taking  her  hack  to  England  restored  to  health  and  power. 
Every  Friday  she  has  been  seriously  ill,  but  has  rallied 
afterwards.  On  Friday  17th,  she  was  very  ill,  and  1  was 
too  anxious  about  her  to  rest  at  all  during  the  night,  but 
perpetually  flitted  ghost-like  in  and  out  of  her  room. 
Last  Friday  again  she  was,  if  anything,  worse  still,  such  a 
terrible  cloud  coming  over  all  her  powers,  with  the  most 
complete  exhaustion.  I  scarcely  left  her  all  day.  When 
these  sad  days  are  over,  life  becomes  quite  different,  so 
heavy  is  the  burden  lifted  off,  and  it  is  difficult  to  realise 
all  that  they  have  been,  the  wearing  anxiety  as  to  what  is 
best  to  be  done,  the  terribly  desolate  future  seeming  so 
near  at  hand,  all  the  after  scenes  presenting  themselves 
so  vividly,  like  fever  phantoms,  to  the  imagination,  and 
then  sometimes  the  seeming  carried  with  my  dearest  one 
to  the  very  gates  of  the  unseen  world.  .  .  .  She  is  always 
patient,  always  self-forgetful,  and  her  obedience  to  her 
'doctor,'  as  she  calls  me,  is  too  touching,  too  entirely 
confiding  and  childlike.  Oh,  if  our  unity  is  broken  by 
death,  no  one,  no  one  will  ever  realise  what  it  has  been. 
Come  what  will,  I  can  bless  God  for  this  winter,  in  which 
that  union  has  been  without  one  tarnished  moment,  one 
passing  difference,  in  which  my  sweetest  one  has  entirely 
leant  upon  me,  and  I  have  entirely  lived  for  her." 

"Feb.  9.  There  is  no  improvement  in  my  dearest 
Mother.  If  there  is  a  temporary  rally,  it  is  followed  by 
a  worse  attack  and  intense  fits  of  exhaustion,  and  the 
effort  of  going  up  and  down  stairs  fatigues  her  so  much 
that  it  is  difficult  to  judge  how  far  it  is  wise  to  gratify  her 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     377 

constant  craving  for  air.  On  Tuesday,  Lea  and  I  took 
her  to  the  Monte  Mario,  and  she  sat  in  the  carriage  while 
we  got  out  and  picked  flowers  in  the  Villa  Mellini.  That 
day  she  was  certainly  better,  and  able  to  enjoy  the  drive 
to  a  certain  degree,  and  to  admire  the  silver  foam  of  the 
fountains  of  St.  Peter's  as  we  passed  them.  I  often  think 
how  doubly  touching  these  and  many  other  beautiful  sights 
may  become  to  me,  if  I  should  be  left  here,  when  she, 
with  whom  I  have  so  often  enjoyed  them,  has  passed  away 
from  us  to  the  vision  of  other  and  more  glorious  scenes. 

"  It  is  in  these  other  scenes,  not  here,  that  I  often  think 
my  darling's  mind  is  already  wandering.  When  she  sits 
in  her  great  weakness,  doing  nothing,  yet  so  quiet,  and 
with  her  loving  beautiful  smile  ever  on  her  revered  coun- 
tenance, it  is  surely  of  no  earthly  scenes  that  my  darling  is 
thinking. 

"In  the  night  I  am  often  seized  with  an  irresistible 
longing  to  know  how  she  is,  and  then  I  steal  quietly 
through  the  softly  opening  doors  into  her  room  and  watch 
her  asleep  by  the  light  of  the  night-lamp.  Even  then  the 
face  in  its  entire  repose  wears  the  same  sweet  expression 
of  childlike  confidence  and  peace. 

"I  dined  with  Mrs.  Robert  Bruce  one  day,  meeting 
Miss  Monk  and  Cavendish  Taylor,  and  went  with  them 
afterwards  to  see  the  '  Grande  Duchesse  de  Gerolstein ' 
acted.  It  was  in  a  booth  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  such  as 
is  generally  used  for  wild  beasts  at  a  fair,  and  where  one 
would  expect  an  audience  of  the  very  lowest  of  the  people ; 
but  instead  the  place  was  crowded  with  the  most  elite  of 
the  Roman  princes  and  their  families.  The  acting  was 
wonderful,  and  the  dresses  and  scenery  very  beautiful. 
It  is  said  that  the  actors  are  a  single  family,  fourteen 
sons,   three  daughters,   and  their  cook! 

"At  the  Shakspeare  Woods'  I  met  Miss  Charlotte 
Cushman,  the  great  American  tragic  actress,  who  has  been 
living  here  for  some  years.     She  was  the  Mrs.  Siddons  of 


378  THE   STORY   OF    MY   LIFE  [1368 

her  time  in  America,  and  places  were  taken  weeks  before- 
hand for  the  nights  when  sin-  acted.  She  does  a  great 
deal  of  good  here  and  is  intensely  beloved.     In  appearance 

she  is  much  like  Mi>s  Boyle,1  with  white  hair  rolled  hack, 
and  is  of  most  winning  and  gracious  manners.  I  went 
to  a  party  at  her  house  last  night,  and  never  saw  anything 
more  dignified  and  graceful  than  her  reception  of  her 
guests,  or  more  charming  than  her  entertainment  of  them. 
She  sang,  but  as  she  has  little  voice  left,  it  was  rather 
dramatic  representation  than  song,  though  most  beautiful 
and  pathetic. 

"The  American  Consul.  Mr.  Cushman,  told  me  lie  had 
crossed  the  Atlantic  forty-seven  times.  The  last  time  he 
returned  was  during  the  cholera  at  Albano,  and  he 
described  its  horrors.  A  hundred  and  fifty  people  died 
in  the  village  on  the  first  day.  and  were  all  thrown  imme- 
diately into  a  large  pit  by  a  regiment  of  Zouaves,  happily 
quartered  there,  and  were  tumbled  in  just  as  they  hap- 
pened to  fall.  The  next  day.  so  many  more  died,  that  sol- 
dier.- were  sent  down  into  the  pit  to  pack  tin-  ladies  closer, 
so  as  to  fit  more  in.  The  In 'dies  already  in  the  pit  were  so 
entangled,  that  several  arms  and  legs  were  pulled  off  in 
the  process.     The  Zouaves  employed  in  the  work  all  died.*' 

I  often  saw  Miss  Cushman  afterwards,  and  greatly 
valued  her  friendship.  Hers  was  a  noble  and  almost 
unique  character,  a  benignant  influence  upon  all  she 
came  in  contact  with.  Her  youth  had  been  a  long 
struggle,  but  it  gave  Iter  a  wonderful  sympathy  with 
young  artists  striving  as  she  herself  had  done,  and 
for  them  her  purse,  her  hand,  and  her  heart  were 
always  open.  When  she  was  only  a  -stock  actress," 
the  wife  of  the  manager,  who  played  herself  and  was 
jealous  of  her  talents,  got  her  husband  to  give  her  a 

1  The  Hon.  Carolina  Courtnay  Boyle,  maid  of  honour. 


1808]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     379 

very  inferior  part:  it  was  that  of  Nancy  Sykes  in 
"Oliver  Twist."  Miss  Cnshman  saw  through  the 
motive,  and  determined  to  prepare  herself  thoroughly. 
She  disappeared.  She  went  down  to  the  worst  part 
of  the  town,  and  remained  for  four  days  amongst  all 
the  lowest  women  there,  till  she  understood  them 
thoroughly  and  could  imitate  their  peculiarities  to 
perfection.  Her  first  appearance,  when  she  strolled 
on  to  the  stage  chewing  a  sprig  of  a  tree,  as  they  all 
do,  took  the  house  by  storm,  and  from  that  time  it 
was  at  her  feet.  The  play  of  "  Guy  Mannering  "  was 
written  to  suit  her  in  the  part  of  Meg  Merrilies.  She 
would  take  an  hour  and  a  half  to  get  herself  up  for 
it,  painting  all  the  veins  on  her  arms,  &c,  and  her 
success  was  wonderful. 

She  had  been  originally  intended  for  an  opera- 
singer,  but,  just  when  she  was  to  appear,  she  had  a 
dangerous  illness,  and,  when  she  recovered,  her  voice 
was  gone.  But  she  wasted  no  time  in  regrets:  she 
immediately  turned  to  being  an  actress.  This  power 
of  making  the  best  of  whatever  was,  formed  one  of 
the  grandest  traits  of  her  character. 

She  died  of  what,  to  many,  is  the  most  terrible  of 
all  diseases.  She  insisted  on  an  operation ;  but  when 
she  went  to  have  it  repeated,  the  great  surgeons  told 
her  it  was  no  use,  and  advised  her  to  devote  her 
remaining  life  to  whatever  would  most  take  her  out 
of  herself  and  make  her  forget  her  pain.  Then  she, 
who  had  left  the  stage  so  long,  went  back  to  it  as 
Meg  Merrilies  again  and  had  all  her  old  triumphs. 
And  the  last  time  she  appeared,  when  she,  as  it  were, 
took  leave  of  the  stage  for  ever,  she  repeated  the 


380  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1868 

words  ••  1  shall  haunt  this  old  glen/'  &c,  in  a-  way 
which  scut  a  cold  shiver  down  the  hacks  of  all  who 
heard  them. 

Miss  Stebbings'  interesting  Life  of  Miss  Cushman 
is  inadequate.  It  dwells  too  much  on  the  successful 
part.  What  were  really  interesting,  and  also  useful 
to  those  beginning  life,  would  have  been  the  true 
story  of  the  struggles  of  her  youth,  and  how  her 
Qoble  nature  overcame  them. 

JOUKNAX. 

"Feb.  10.  My  dearest  mother  is  better  and  up  again, 
sweet  and  smiling.  Last  week,  after  poor  Mrs.  C.  had 
died,  Mis.  Ramsay,  not  knowing  it,  sent  to  inquire  after 
her.  'E  andata  in  Paradiso,'  said  her  old  servant  Fran- 
cesco, quite  simply,  when  he  came  back." 

"  Feb.  25.  On  the  16th  old  Don  Francesco  Chigi  died,  a 
most  well-known  figure  to  be  missed  out  of  Roman  life. 
He  was  buried  with  perfectly  mediaeval  pomp  the  next  day 
at  the  Popolo.  The  procession  down  the  Corso  from  the 
Chigi  Palace  was  most  gorgeous,  the  long  line  of  princely 
carriages  and  the  running  footmen  with  their  huge  torches 
and  splendid  liveries,  the  effect  enhanced  by  the  darkness 
of  the  night,  for  it  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

"  Yesterday  I  rushed  with  all  the  world  to  St.  Peter's  to 
stare  at  the  bridal  of  Donna  Guendalina  Doria,  who  had 
just  been  married  at  S.  Agnese  to  the  Milanese  Conte 
della  Somaglia.  The  Pope  gave  her  his  benediction  and  a 
prayer-book  hound  in  solid  gold  and  diamonds.  Thirteen 
carriages  full  of  relations  escorted  her  to  St.  Peter's,  hut 
very  few  had  courage  to  come  with  her  into  the  church. 
She  looked  well  in  a  long  lace  veil  and  white  silk  cloak 
striped  with  gold. 

"  My  sweet  Mother  has  gained  very  little  ground  the  last 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     381 

fortnight.  Yesterday  for  the  first  time  she  went  out  — 
carried  down  and  upstairs  by  Benedetto  and  Louisa,  and 
drove  with  Charlotte  to  the  Villa  Doria.  But  in  the  even- 
ing her  breathing  was  difficult.  To-day  I  drove  with  Lady 
Bloomfield  *  and  Jane  Adeane  to  the  Campagna,  and  when 
I  came  back  I  found  that  she  had  been  quite  ill  the  whole 
time.     The  dear  face  looks  sadly  worn." 

"Feb.  27.  When  I  went  into  my  darling's  room  at 
3  A.  M.,  both  she  and  Lea  were  sleeping  quietly,  but  when 
I  went  again  at  six,  the  Mother  had  been  long  awake,  and 
oppressed  with  great  difficulty  of  breathing.  At  half-past 
nine  Dr.  Grilli  came  and  begged  for  another  opinion.  .  .  . 
How  did  I  bear  it  when  he  said  that  my  darling  was  in  the 
greatest  danger,  that  if  she  would  desire  any  spiritual  con- 
solations, they  ought  to  be  sent  for !  Then  I  lost  all  hope. 
'  No,'  I  said,  '  she  has  long  lived  more  in  heaven  than  on 
earth.'     '  Quello  si  vede,'  said  Dr.  Grilli. 

"  I  questioned  whether  she  should  be  told  the  danger  she 
was  in,  but  I  decided  not ;  for  has  not  my  darling  been  for 
years  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  heavenly  kingdom  ? 
Death  could  to  her  only  be  the  passing  quite  over  that 
threshold,  and  to  us  the  last  glimpse  of  her  most  sweet 
presence  here. 

"  2  p.  M.  Charlotte  Leycester  and  Emma  Simpkinson 
have  been  with  me  in  the  room  all  morning  by  turns.  I 
cannot  but  think  her  slightly  better.  The  shutter  has  just 
been  opened  that  she  may  see  the  sun,  which  poured  into 
the  room.  My  darling  was  sitting  up  then  and  smiled  to 
see  it. 

"5A  p.m..  Waiting-  for  the  consultation  of  doctors. 
How  I  dread  it,  yet  I  cannot  but  think  they  will  find  my 
darling  better.     I  have  a  feeling  that  there  must  still  be 

i  My  cousins,  Lord  and  Lady  Bloomfield,  and  the  Dowager  Lady 
Barrington,  with  her  daughter  Augusta,  were  spending  the  winter  in 
Rome. 


382  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

hope.  At  two  I  went  iii  a  carriage  to  the  Villa  Negroni,1 
as  the  mos1  solitary  place  I  knew,  and  there  spent  an  hour 
on  thai  terraced  walk  beneath  the  house  in  which  I  was 
born,  where  my  two  mothers  walked  up  and  down  together 
before  my  birth,  and  where  I  have  often  been,  oh!  so 
happy  in  the  sunshine  of  her  presence  who  is  life  to  me. 

"Coming  hack,  1  went  into  the  Church  of  the  Angeli. 
A  white  Carthusian  was  kneeling  there  alone.  I  knelt 
too  and  prayed  —  not  that  God  would  give  my  darling 
back  to  me  unless  it  were  His  will,  but  oh !  so  earnestly 
that   there  might  be  no  pain  in  her  departure. 

"  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Miss  Finucane  want  to  come  and 
sit  up  —  always  good  and  kind.  Grilli  has  been  this  even- 
ing with  Dr.  Bertoldi,  and  says  everything  depends  on  how 
she  passes  the  next  night :  if  she  sleeps  and  the  breathing 
becomes  easier,  we  may  hope,  but  even  then  it  will  be 
most  difficult  to  regain  the  ground  lost.  In  this  I  buoy 
myself  up  that  they  know  nothing  of  her  wonderful  power 
of  rallying. 

"  When  Charlotte  went  away  for  the  night,  she  said,  '  I 
shall  think  of  you,  dear,  and  pray  for  you  very  much  to- 
night.'—  'Yes,  into  the  Lord's  hands  I  commend  my 
spirit,'  said  my  darling  solemnly." 

"  9  a.  M.  Feb.  28,  Friday.  Last  night,  when  I  wished 
her  good-night,  she  said  in  her  sweetest  manner,  '  Don't  be 
too  anxious  ;  it  is  all  in  His  hands.'  Lea  went  to  bed  and 
Emma  Simpkinson  sat  upon  the  sofa.  I  went  in  and  out 
all  through  the  night.      Since  4  A.  M.  she  has  been  less 

well  ! 

"6  P.  m.  I  went  rapidly  to-day  in  a  little  carriage  to 
St.  Peter's,  and  kneeling  at  the  grating  of  the  chapel  of 
the  Sacrament  by  Sixtus  IV. 's  tomb,  I  implored  God  to 
take  two  years  out  of  my  life  and  to  add  them  to  my 

1  This  beautiful  villa  and  its  lovely  grounds  have  been  entirely 
d(  -troyed  under  the  Sardinian  Government. 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     383 

Mother's.  I  could  not  part  with  her  now.  If  there  is 
power  in  prayer,  I  must  have  been  heard.  I  was  back 
within  the  hour. 

"  When  Charlotte  came,  she  repeated  to  the  Mother  the 
texts  about  the  saints  in  white  robes,  and  then  said  k  Per- 
haps, dear,  you  will  be  with  them  soon  —  perhaps  it  is  as  in 
our  favourite  hymn,  "  Just  passing  over  the  brink."  '  — 
'  Yes,'  said  my  darling,  '  it  cannot  last  long;  this  is  quite 
wearing  me  out.'  I  heard  this  through  the  door,  for  I 
could  not  bear  to  be  in  the  room.  Then  Charlotte  said, 
'  The  Lord  be  with  you,'  or  similar  words,  and  my  darling 
answered  '  Yes,  and  may  He  be  with  those  who  are  left  as 
well  as  with  those  who  are  taken.'  At  this  moment  I  came 
in  and  kissed  my  darling.  Charlotte,  not  knowing  I  had 
heard,  then  repeated  what  she  had  said.  '  She  is  praying 
that  God  may  be  with  you  and  with  me,'  she  said.  I  could 
not  bear  it,  and  went  back  to  the  next  room.  Charlotte 
came  in  and  kissed  me.  '  I  cannot  say  what  I  feel  for 
you,'  she  said.  I  begged  her  not  to  say  so  now,  '  as  long 
as  there  was  anything  to  be  done  I  must  not  give  way.' " 

"  3  P.  M.  Saturday.  The  night  was  one  of  terrible 
suffering.  Mrs.  Woodward  sat  up,  but  I  could  not  leave 
the  room.  In  the  morning  my  darling  said,  "I  never 
thought  it  would  have  been  like  this  ;  I  thought  it  would 
have  been  unconscious.  The  valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death  is  a  dark  valley,  but  there  is  light  at  the  end.  .  .  . 
No  more  pain.  .  .  .  The  Rock  of  Ages,  that  is  my  rock.' 
Then  I  read  the  three  prayers  in  the  Visitation  Service. 
'  It  will  be  over  soon,'  she  said  ;  '  I  am  going  to  rest.' 

" '  Will  you  give  me  some  little  word  of  blessing, 
darling  ? '  I  said.  '  The  Lord  keep  you  and  comfort  you, 
my  dear  child,'  she  said.  '  Don't  fret  too  much.  He  will 
give  you  comfort.'  I  had  begged  that  Mrs.  Woodward 
would  call  in  Lea,  who  was  now  kneeling  between  us  at 
the  bedside.     'And  you  bless  poor  Lea,  too,'  I  said.     'Yes, 


38  1  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1S68 

dear  Lea  :  she  has  been  a  most  good  and  faithful  and  dear 
servant  t<>  me.  I  pray  thai  God  may  be  with  her  and 
John,  and  keep  them,  and  I  hope  that  they  will  be  faithful 
and  Loving  to  you,  as  they  have  been  to  me,  as  Long  as  you 
need  them.  ...  Be  reconciled  to  all  who  have  been  un- 
kind to  you,  darling-;  love  them  all,  this  is  my  great  wish, 
Love — love --love  —  oh,  1  have  tried  to  live  for  love  — 
oh!  love  one  another,  that  is  the  great  thing  —  love, 
love,  love  ! ' 

" '  The  Lord  bless  and  comfort  you,  dear,'  she  said  to 
Charlotte.  '  Be  a  mother  to  my  child.'  — '  I  will,'  said 
Charlotte,  and  then  my  darling's  hand  took  mine  and 
held  it. 

" '  We  look  for  the  salvation  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,' 
said  Charlotte.  'Yes,  and  it  was  here  that  it  first  dawned 
upon  me  .  .  .  through  much  tribulation.  .  .  .  He  will  be 
with  me  and  he  will   be  with  those  who  are  left.' 

•• '  We  look  for  the  King  in  His  beauty,'  said  Charlotte. 
'  Yes,  beauty  such  as  we  have  never  seen,'  my  darling  said. 
'Eve  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard  the  things  which  God 
hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  Him.  Oh,  I  have  been 
able  to  serve  Him  very  little.'  —  'Yes,  darling,  but  you 
have  loved  Him   much.' 

"'I  send  my  love  to  all  my  dear  ones  in  England; 
none  are  forgotten,  none.'  Then,  after  a  pause,  '  Tell 
3-our  sister  that  we  shall  meet  where  there  is  no  more 
controversy,  and  where  we  shall  know  thoroughly  as  we 
are  known.' 

••In  the  night  the  terrible  pain  came  on,  which  lasted 
many  hours  and  gave  us  all  such  anguish.  '  And  He  bore 
all  this,'  she  said,  and  at  one  of  her  worst  moments  —  'He 
that  trusteth  in  Thee  shall  never  be  put  to  confusion.' 
What  these  trembling  words  were  to  us  I  cannot  say,  with 
her  great  suffering  and  the  sadly  sunken  look  of  her 
revered  features.     Mrs.  Woodward  cried  bitterly. 

" '  Mine  eyes  look  to  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh  my 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     385 

help,'  said  Charlotte  when  she  came  in.  '  You  have  loved 
the  Psalms  so  much,  have  n't  you  dear  ? '  —  '  Yes,  the 
Psalms  so  much.'  — '  All  thy  waves  and  storms  pass  over 
me,'  said  Charlotte,  '  but  the  Rock  resisteth  the  flood.'  — 
'  Yes,  the  Rock'  said  my  darling.  '  The  floods  lift  up  their 
waves,  but  the  Lord  is  mightier.'  —  'He  is  mightier,'  she 
repeated.  '  The  Lord  is  a  refuge  and  a  strong  tower,'  said 
Charlotte.  'He  is  indeed,'  she  answered  with  emphasis; 
'  it  is  a  dark  valley,  but  there  is  light  beyond,  for  He  is  the 
strength  of  my  heart  and  my  portion  forever.' 

"  She  bade  me  in  the  early  morning  not  to  leave  her, 
and  I  sat  by  her  without  moving  from  6  A.  M.  till  1  P.  m. 
'  Oh,  you  will  all  be  so  tired,'  she  said  once.  When  she  was 
very  ill,  Charlotte  leant  over  her  and  said,  '  I  am  oppressed, 
O  Lord,  undertake  for  me :  may  the  everlasting  arms  be 
beneath  you.'  —  '  Yes,'  she  said. 

"  March   1,    Sunday   morning.      How  long   it   is !     At 

6  P.  M.  she  was  very  restless  and  suffering.  At  last  she 
gave  me  her  hand  and  lay  down  with  me  supporting  the 
pillows  behind.  She  spoke  quite  clearly,  and  said,  'My 
blessing  and  darling,  may  you  be  blessed  in  time  and 
eternity ! '  This  quiet  sleep  seemed  to  soothe  and  rest 
her,  and  afterwards  Lea  was  able  to  take  my  place  for 
an  hour.  But  the  night  was  terrible.  Mrs.  Woodward 
and  Miss  Finucane  both  sat  up  with  me.  Once  she  said, 
'  Through  the  grave  and  the  gate  of  death  ...  a  glorious 
resurrection.'  At  seven  she  was  speaking  again,  and  lean- 
ing over  her  I  heard,  'How  long,  how  long?  when  will 
the  Bridegroom  come  ? '  " 

"4  p.m.  Monday,  March  2.  A  rather  less  suffering 
night.  Dear  Miss  Garden  sat  up  with  me,  saying  she  felt 
as  if  it  was  her  own  mother  who  was  lying  there,  and 
Mother  rambled  gently  to  her  about  'going  home.'     At 

7  a.m.  she  fell  asleep  sweetly  with  her  hand  clasped  in 

vol.  ii.  — 25 


386  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

both  of  mine.  I  did  not  venture  to  move,  and  sank  from 
my  knees  into  a  sitting  position  on  the  floor;  so  we  re- 
mained for  nearly  an  hour.  When  she  waked  her  moan 
was  more  definite.  •  Oh,  for  rest!  oh,  for  rest!'  I  said, 
'Darling,  rest  is  coming  soon.'  —  'Yes,'  she  said,  fcmy 
health  will  all  eoine  back  tome  soon;  no  infirmities  and 
no   pains  any   more." 

"10  A.M.  When  Charlotte  went  at  nine,  I  thought  my 
darling  sinking  more  rapidly,  and  Dr.  Grilli  when  he  came 
told  us  it  was  all  but  impossible  she  could  rally.  She 
looks  to  me  at  moments  quite  passing  away.  1  would  not 
call  my  darling  back  for  worlds  now:  if  God  took  her, 
1  could  only  be  lost  in  thankfulness  that  her  pains  were 
over.  Oh,  that  she  may  be  soon  in  that  perfect  health 
which  we  shall  not  be  permitted  to  see.  1  scarcely  leave 
her  a  moment  now,  though  it  is  agony  to  me  if  she  coughs 
or  suffers.  Can  I  afford  to  lose  one  look  from  those 
beloved  eyes,  one  passing  expression  of  those  revered 
features?  So  I  sit  beside  her  through  the  long  hours. 
now  moistening  her  Lips,  now  giving  her  water  from  a 
spoon,  now  and  then  a  little  soup-jelly,  which  she  finds  it 
easier  to  swallow  than  the  soup  itself,  and  now  and  then  my 
darling  gently  gives  me  her  hand  to  hold  in  mine.  -Rest 
in  bliss,' she  said  to  .Mrs.  Woodward.  *rest  ever  in  bliss.' 
Afterwards  ( Jharlotte  said,  '  When  thou  passest  through  the 
waters,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee:  underneath  thee  are 
.  .   .  the  everlasting  arms.' 

"12$  p.  m.  Charlotte  has  repeated  sentences  from  the 
Litany  —  *  By  Thine  agony  and  bloody  sweat.'  We  thought 
she  scarcely  understood  at  first,  then  her  lips,  almost  in- 
audibly,  repeated  the  sentences.  Soon  she  said,  '  It  is  so 
long  coming  ! '  Then  Charlotte  read,  'Blessed  are  the  dead 
who  die  in  the  Lord,  for  they  rest  from  their  labours.'  She 
opened  her  eyes,  looked  up  at  Charlotte,  and  said,  'Oh, 
how  well  I  know  you  ! ' 

"1  P.M.      After   some  minutes'    quiet   she    opened  her 


1S68]     ENGLISH  PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     387 

eyes  with  surprise  and  said,  '  I  thought  I  was  safe  home ; 
I  thought  I  was,  yet  I  can  move,  so  I  suppose  it  will 
not  be  yet.' 

"  2  p.  m.  Her  face  has  lost  all  its  troubled  look,  and 
though  she  still  moans,  there  is  a  happy  appearance  of 
repose  stealing  over  her  features. 

"  3  p.  m.  When  C.  L.  came  in  she  said,  '  Oh,  Charlotte, 
I  thought  it  was  all  over.  I  did  not  hear  the  noise  of  the 
waves  any  more.  Oh,  they  were  so.  very  tormenting,  and 
then,  when  I  did  not  hear  them,  I  thought  it  was  over,  and 
then  I  heard  your  voice,  and  I  knew  I  was  still  here.  .  .  . 
I  have  no  more  pain  now.  ...  It  was  very  long,  but  I 
suppose  He  thought  He  would  knock  out  all  that  was  bad 
in  me.' 

"  Midnight,  Monday.  After  a  terrible  afternoon,  she  had 
such  an  extraordinary  rally  in  the  evening  that  we  all  be- 
gan to  hope.  But  soon  after  there  was  another  change. 
Her  features  altered,  her  face  sunk,  but  her  expression  was 
of  the  most  transcendent  happiness.  Thinking  the  last 
moment  was  come,  we  knelt  around  the  bed,  I  alone  on  the 
right;  Charlotte,  Lea,  and  Mrs.  Woodward  on  the  left; 
the  nurse,  Angela  Mayer,  at  the  foot.  Charlotte  and  Mrs. 
W.  prayed  aloud.  Then  my  darling,  in  broken  accents, 
difficult  to  understand,  but  which  I,  leaning  over  her,  re- 
peated to  the  others,  began  to  speak  —  '  I  am  going  to  glory 
...  I  have  no  pain  now  ...  I  see  the  light  .  .  .  Oh,  I 
am  so  happy  ...  no  more  trouble  or  sorrow  or  sin  .  .  .  so 
extremely  happy  .  .  .  may  you  all  meet  me  there,  not  one 
of  you  be  wanting.' 

"  I,  leaning  over  her,  said,  '  Do  you  know  me  still,  dar- 
ling?'  —  '  Yes,  I  know  and  bless  you,  my  dearest  son  .  .  . 
peace  and  love  .  .  .  glory  everlasting  ...  all  sins  and 
infirmities  purged  away  .  .  .  rest  .  .  .  love  .  .  .  glory 
.  .  .  reign  for  ever  .  .  .  see  Christ. 

"  '  Oh,  be  ready  ! 

" '  Mary  and  Arthur  and  Kate  and  Emmie  and  Mamie. 


388  THE   STORY    OF  MY   LIFE  [1868 

faithful    servants  of   Christ,    to    meet    me    there    in    His 
kingdom. 

••  •  Let  peace  and  love  remain  with  yon  always.  This  is 
my  great  wish,  peace  and  love  .  .  .  peace  and  love.' 

••After  Baying  this,  my  mother  solemnly  folded  her 
trembling  hands  together  on  her  breast,  and  looking  up  to 
heaven,  said,  'Oh,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly,  and  may  all 
these  meet  me  again  in  Thy  kingdom  ! '  As  she  said  this, 
my  darling's  eyes  seemed  lixed  upon  another  world. 

"  After  this  I  begged  the  others  to  leave  me  alone  with 
her,  and  then  my  dearest  one  said  to  me,  'Yes,  darling,  our 
love  for  one  another  on  earth  is  coming  to  an  end  now. 
We  have  loved  one  another  very  deeply.  I  don't  know 
how  far  communion  will  be  still  possible,  but  I  soon  shall 
know;  and  if  it  be  possible,  I  shall  still  be  always  near 
you.  I  shall  so  love  to  see  and  know  all  you  are  doing, 
and  to  watch  over  you;  and  when  you  hear  a  little  breeze 
go  rustling  by,  you  must  think  it  is  the  old  Mother  still 
near  you.  .  .  .  You  will  do  all  I  wish,  darling,  T  know. 
I  need  not  write,  you  will  carry  out  all  my  wishes.'  —  '  Yes, 
dearie,'  I  said,  k  it  will  be  my  only  comfort  when  you  are 
gone  to  do  all  you  would  have  wished.  I  will  always  stay 
at  Holmhurst,  darling,  and  I  will  continue  going  to  Alton, 
and  I  will  do  everything  else  I  can  think  of  that  yon  would 
like.' 

" '  Yes,  and  you  must  try  to  conquer  self  ...  to  serve 
God  here,  and  then  we  may  be  together  again  in  heaven. 
.  .  .  Oh,  we  must  be  together  again  there.' 

••  Lea  now  came  in,  and  my  darling  stroked  her  face 
while  she  sobbed  convulsively.  'Your  long  work  is  done 
at  last,'  Mother  said  ;  '  I  have  been  a  great  trouble  to  you 
both,  and  perhaps  it  is  as  well  I  should  be  taken  away 
now,  for  I  am  quite  worn  out.  Tell  John  and  all  of  them 
that  I  am  sorry  to  leave  them,  but  perhaps  it  was  for  the 
best;  for  this  is  not  an  illness;  it  is  that  I  am  worn  out. 
■   .  .  You  and  Augustus   will  stay  together  and   comfort 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES  AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     389 

one  another  when  I  am  gone,  and  you  will  bear  with  one 
another's  infirmities  and  help  one  another.  The  great 
thing  of  all  is  to  be  able  to  confess  that  one  has  been  in 
the  wrong.  Oh,  peace  and  love,  peace  and  love,  these  are 
the  great  things.' 

" '  Have  I  been  a  good  child  to  you,  dearest  ? '  I  said. 
'  Oh,  yes,  indeed  —  dear  and  good,  dear  and  good ;  a  little 
wilful  perhaps  you  used  to  be,  but  not  lately ;  you  have 
been  all  good  to  me  lately —  dear  and  good.'  (L  Yes,  that 
he  has,'  said  Lea.)  *  Faithful  and  good,'  my  darling  re- 
peated, '  both  of  you  faithful  and  good.' 

'k  Charlotte  now  came  in.  k  Here  is  Charlotte.'  k  Dear 
Charlotte  !  Oh  yes,  I  know  you.  I  do  not  know  whether 
there  will  be  any  communication  where  I  am  going,  but  if 
there  is,  I  shall  be  very  near  you.  I  am  going  to  rest  .  .  . 
rest  everlasting.  Be  a  mother  to  my  child.  Comfort  him 
when  I  am  gone  .  .  .  give  him  good  advice.  .  .  .  You 
know  what  suggestions  I  should  make.  .  .  .  You  will  say 
to  him  what  I  should  say  .  .  .  and  if  he  could  have  a  good 
wife,  that  would  be  the  best  thing  .  .  .  for  what  would 
you  do,  my  child,  in  this  lonely  world  ?  .  .  .  No,  a  good 
wife,  that  is  what  I  wish  for  you  —  a  good  wife  and  a  family 
home. 

"  '  And  now  I  should  like  to  speak  to  kind  Mrs.  Wood- 
ward '  (she  came  in).  '  Thank  you  so  much  ;  you  have 
been  very  good  and  kind  to  me,  dear  Mrs.  Woodward.  I 
am  going  fast  to  my  heavenly  home.  I  have  said  all  I  meant 
to  have  written  all  the  time  I  have  been  ill,  and  have  never 
been  able  .  .  .  my  mouth  has  been  opened  that  I  might 
speak. '  " 

"  7  A.  m.  March  3.  k  Oh,  it  is  quite  beautiful.  Good-bye, 
my  own  dearest !  I  cannot  believe  that  you  will  look  up 
into  the  clouds  and  think  that  I  am  only  there  .  .  .  but 
you  will  also  see  me  in  the  flowers  and  in  my  friends,  and 
in  all  that  I  have  loved.' 


390  THE  STORY   OF  MY    LIFE  [1868 

••  s  a.m.  With  the  morning  lighl  my  dearest  Mother  has 
seemed  to  become  more  rapt  in  holy  thoughts  and  visions, 
her  eyes  more  intently  lixrd  on  the  unseen  world.  At. 
last,  with  a  look  of  rapture  she  has  exclaimed,  'Oh, 
angels,  1  see  angels!'  and  since  then  pain  seems  to  have 
Left  her. 

-S.l  A.  m.  (To  Lea.)  'You  will  take  care  of  him  and 
comfort  him,  as  you  have  always  taken  care  of  me :  you 
have  been  a  dear  snvant  to  me.'  —  '  Yes,'  said  Lea,  'I  will 
always  sta\  with  him  and  take  care  of  him  as  long  as  I  live. 
I  look  care  of  your  dear  husband,  and  I  have  taken  care 
of  you.  and  I  will  take  care  of  him  as  long  as  he  wants  me.' 
1  Darling  sweet,'  I  said  to  her.  'Yes,  darling  sweet,'  she 
repeated,  with  inexpressible  tenderness.  'I  always  hear 
the  tender  words  you  say  to  me,  dear,  even  in  my  dreams.' 
Then  she  said  also  to  Mrs.  Woodward,  '  You  have  been 
very  kind  to  us:  you  will  comfort  Augustus  when  he  is 
left  desolate :  you  know  what  sorrow  is,  you  have  gone 
through  the  valley.  ...  It  seems  so  much  worse  for  others 
than  for  me.  .  .  .  For  then  I  shall  begin  really  to  live.' 

"  All  this  time  my  darling  lay  with  her  eyes  upturned 
and  an  expression  of  rapt  beatitude.  The  nurse  says  that 
in  her  forty  years'  nursing  she  never  saw  any  one  like 
this,  so  quiet,  so  happy.  '  Nothing  ever  puts  her  out  or 
makes  her  complain:  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.'1 

"8.!  A.  M.  '  It  is  very  difficult  to  realise  that  when  you 
are  absent  from  the  body  you  are  present  with  the  Lord. ' 

"10  a.m.  Dr.  Grilli  says  she  may  live  till  evening, 
even  possibly  into  the  night.  She  has  just  said,  a  little 
wandering,  '  You  know  in  a  few    days  some  pretty  sweet 

1  "  Look  at  a  pious  person,  man  or  woman,  one  in  whom  the  spirit 
sways  the  senses  :  look  at  them  when  they  are  praying  or  have  risen 
from  their  knees,  and  see  with  how  bright  a  ray  of  divine  beauty 
their  faces  are  illuminated:  you  will  see  the  beauty  of  God  shine 
on  their  faces  :  you  will  see  the  beauty  of  an  angel."  —  Savonarola, 
Sermons. 


1868]    ENGLISH  PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     391 

violets  will  come  up,  and  that  will  be  all  that  will  be  left 
to  you  of  the  dear  Mother. ' 

"11A  a.  m.  She  has  taken  leave  of  Emma  Simpkinson 
and  Miss  Garden.  When  I  came  in  she  took  my  hand 
and  said,  '  And  you,  darling,  I  shall  always  think  of  you, 
and  you  will  think  of  me.  I  shall  spring  up  again  like 
the  little  violets,  and  I  shall  put  on  an  incorruptible  body. 
I  shall  be  always  floating  over  you  and  watching  over  you 
somehow :  we  shall  never  be  separated ;  and  my  body  will 
rest  beside  that  of  my  dear  husband.  So  strange  it  should 
be  here;  perhaps,  if  it  had  been  anywhere  else,  I  might 
have  wished  to  get  better,  but  as  it  was  here,  the  tempta- 
tion was  too  great.  I  am  quite  worn  out.  I  thought  I 
could  not  get  better  after  my  last  illness,  and  I  was  given 
back  to  you  for  a  little  while,  though  I  have  always  felt 
very  weak,  but  I  shall  be  quite  well  now. '  ' 

"10  a.m.  March  4.  All  night  she  wandered  gently, 
saying  that  she  would  '  go  out  and  play  with  the  little 
children ;  for  there  can  be  nothing  bad  amongst  very  little 
children.'  In  the  morning  Charlotte  still  thought  there 
was  a  chance  of  her  rallying,  but  Emma  Simpkinson  and 
I  both  think  her  sinking,  and  Dr.  Grilli  says  that  '  sussulti 
tendinosi '  of  the  pulses  have  come  on,  and  that  there  is 
not  the  slightest  hope.  It  can  probably  only  be  two  hours, 
though  it  may  last  till  evening.  He  has  formally  taken 
leave,  saying  that  medicine  is  useless,  and  that  it  is  no  use 
for  him  to  return  any  more.  Since  the  early  morning  my 
darling  has  been  lying  with  her  hand  in  mine,  leaning  her 
head  against  mine  on  the  pillow,  her  eyes  turned  upwards, 
her  lips  constantly  moving  in  inarticulate  prayer.  She  has 
asked,  '  What  day  is  it  ?  I  think  it  is  my  birthday  to-day. ' 
I  have  not  told  her  it  is  her  father's  birthday,  as  I  believe 
it  will  be  her  own  birthday  in  heaven. 

"11   a.  m.     She  has  again  appeared  to  be  at  the  last 
extremity.     Raising  her  eyes  to  heaven  and  taking  my 


•  • 


92  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIKE  [1808 


hand,  she  has  prayed  fervently  but  inaudibly.  Then  she 
prayed  audibly  for  blessings  for  me  and  Lea,  and,  with  a 
grateful  look  to  Emma,  added,  k  And  for  dear  Emma 
too.' 

"  1  p.  m.  She  wandered  a  little,  and  asked  if  the  battle 
was  over.     'Yes,'  said  Lea,   "and   the  victory  won." 

"1.]  p.  M.  k  I  am  all  straight  now,  no  more  crookedness. 
.  .  .  You  must  do  something,  dear,  to  build  yourself  up; 
you  must  be  a  good  deal  pulled  down  by  all  this.  .  .  . 
Rest  now,  but  work,   work  for  God  in  life. 

"'.  Don't  expect  too  much  good  upon  earth. 

"'  Don't  expect  too  much  perfection  in  one  another. 

" '  Work  for  eternity. 

"'  Only  try  for  love.' 

"2p.m.  'Oh,  how  happy  I  am!  I  have  everything 
J    want  here  and  hereafter.' 

"2.10.  (With  eyes  uplifted  and  hands  clasped.)  .  .  . 
'  Living  water.     The  Lamb,  the  Lamb  is  the  life.' 

"2.15.  C.  L.  repeated  at  her  request '  Abide  with  me, 
fast  falls  the  eventide.' 

"2.30.  The  dear  Mother  herself,  with  her  changed 
voice,  clasped  hands,  and  uplifted  eyes,  has  repeated  the 
hymn,   '  Just  as  I  am,   without  one  plea.' 

"  3  P.  M.  'I  am  glad  I  am  not  going  to  stay.  I  could 
not  do  you  any  more  good,  and  I  am  so  happy. ' 

"4  p.m.  (With  intense  fervour.)  'O  God,  O  God! 
God  alone  can  save  —  one  and  eternal.     Amen!  Amen!' 

"4.15.  '  Let  us  be  one  in  heaven,  dear,  as  we  are  one 
on  earth.' 

"•  L30.  '  Oh,  let  me  go.  ...  I  have  said  I  was  ready 
to  go  so  often,  but  you  won't  give  me  up.'  I  said,  'I 
think  you  had  better  try  to  sleep  a  little  now,  darling. '  — 
'  Yes,  but  let  it  be  the  last:  I  have  had  so  many,  many 
last  sleeps. '  —  '  You  are  in  no  pain  now,  dearie  ? '  I  said. 
'Oh  no,  no  pain;  there  is  no  pain  on  the  borderland  of 
heaven. 


1868]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     39o 

" '  May  He  who  ruletli  all,  both  in  heaven  and  earth, 
bless  you,  my  child  —  bless  you  and  keep  you  from  ill. 
Love,  love,  perfect  love,  love  on  earth  and  then  love  in 
heaven.  ...  I  can  hear  words  from  the  upper  world  now 
and  none  from  the  nearer.  They  have  taught  me  things 
that  were  dark  to  me  before.' 

"  5  p.  M.     '  Peace  be  with  you,  peace  and  love. 

"'  Sin  below,  grace  above. 

" '  We  sinners  below,  Christ  above. 

" '  All  love,  all  truth  in  Jesus  Christ,  my  Lord  and  my 
God.' 

"  54  p.  m.  '  Oh,  let  it  be.  It  could  not  be  better  —  no 
doubt,  no  difficulty.  .  .  .  All  the  good  things  of  this 
world,  what  are  they  ?  .  .  .  soon  pass  away  —  pride,  van- 
ity, vexation  of  spirit ;  but  oh !  love !  love ! '  It  was  after 
saying  these  words  that  my  darling's  face  became  quite 
radiant,  and  that  she  looked  upward  with  an  expression  of 
rapture.  '  I  see  a  white  dove, '  she  said,  '  oh,  such  a  beau- 
tiful white  dove,  floating  towards  me.'  Soon  after  this 
she  exclaimed,  '  Oh,  Lord  Jesus,  oh,  come  quickly.'  .  .  . 
When  she  opened  her  eyes,  '  What  a  wilful  child  you  are ! 
you  will  not  let  your  mother  depart,  and  she  is  so  ready. ' 
—  'Is  it  he  who  keeps  you  ? '  said  C.  L.  '  No,  a  better 
One;  but  let  me  go  or  let  me  stay,  O  Lord,  I  have  no 
will  but  Thine.'  'M 

"2  a.  M.  March  5.  During  the  night  she  has  prayed 
constantly  aloud  for  various  relations  and  friends  by  name, 
and  often  for  me.  Once  she  said,  '  Ever  upright,  ever 
just,  sometimes  irritable,  weak  in  temperament,  that  others 
should  love  him  as  I  have  done  .  .  .  and  a  good  wife, 
that  is  what  I  have  always  thought.' 

1  There  is  another  passage  in  Rudyard  Kipling  which  exactly  de- 
scribes my  mother's  state  at  this  time.  "  The  mind  was  quickened, 
and  the  revolving  thoughts  ground  against  each  other,  as  millstones 
grind  when  there  is  no  corn  between." 


;;i)|  THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1SG8 

••  8  P.  m-  March  5.  Twice  to-day  there  has  been  a  sudden 
sinking  of  nature,  life  almost  extinct,  and  then,  owing  to 
the  return  of  lever,  there  has  been  a  rally.  She  became 
excited  if  I  left  her  even  for  a  moment,  so  through  last 
oighl  and  to-day  I  have  constantly  sat  behind  her  on  the 
bed,   supporting  her  head  on  a   pillow  in  my  arms.     " 

••  lo  p.  m.  Emma  Simpkinson  is  come  for  the  night,  but 
there  is  a  strange  change.  My  mother  is  asleep!  quietly 
asleep  —  the  fever  is  reduced  after  the  aconite  which  I 
insisted  upon,  and  which  the  homoeopathic  doctor  said 
■must  end  her  life  in  half-an-hour. " 

"Friday  Evening,  March  6.  All  day  there  has  been  a 
rally,  and  she  has  now  power  to  cough  again.  Grilli  had 
given  the  case  up,  so  at  noon  to-day  I  had  no  scruple  in 
sending  for  Dr.  Topham,  writing  full  explanation  of  the 
strange  case.  He  says  it  is  the  most  extraordinary  he  has 
ever  seen  and  a  most  interesting  study  — '  Before  such  a 
miracle  of  nature,  science  can  only  sit  still.'  Life  still 
hangs  on  a  thread,  but  there  is  certainly  an  improvement. 
She  knows  none  but  me." 

"Saturday  Evening,  March  7.  What  a  quiet  day  of 
respite  we  have  had  after  all  the  long  tension  and  anxiety. 
My  darling's  face  has  resumed  a  natural  expression,  and 
she  now  lies  quite  quiet,  sleeping,  and  only  rousing  herself 
to  take  nourishment." 

I  have  copied  these  fragments  from  my  journal  of 
two  terrible  weeks,  written  upon  my  knees  by  my 
mother's  side,  when  we  felt  every  hour  must  be  the 
last,  and  that  her  words,  so  difficult  to  recall  after- 
wards, would  be  almost  our  only  consolation  when 
the  great  desolation  had  really  fallen.  But  no  de- 
scription can    give   an  idea  of   the  illness  —  of   the 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     395 

strange  luminousness  of  the  sunken  features,  such  as 
one  reads  of  in  lives  of  Catholic  saints  —  of  the  mar- 
vellous beauty  of  her  expression  —  of  the  thrilling 
accents  in  which  many  words  were  spoken,  from 
which  her  sensitive  retiring  nature  would  have  shrunk 
in  health.  Had  there  been  physically  any  reason  for 
hopefulness,  which  there  was  not  —  had  the  doctors 
given  any  hope  of  recovery,  which  they  did  not,  her 
appearance,  her  words,  her  almost  transfiguration 
would  have  assured  us  that  she  was  on  the  threshold 
of  another  world.  I  feel  that  those  who  read  must 
—  like  those  who  saw  —  almost  experience  a  sort  of 
shock  at  her  being  given  back  to  us  again.  Yet  I 
believe  that  God  heard  my  prayer  in  St.  Peter's  for 
the  two  years  more.  During  that  time,  and  that 
time  only,  she  was  spared  to  bless  us,  and  to  prepare 
me  better  for  the  final  separation  when  it  really 
came.  She  was  also  spared  to  be  my  support  in 
another  great  trial  of  my  life,  to  which  we  then  never 
looked  forward.  But  I  will  return  to  my  journal, 
with  which  ordinary  events  now  again  entwine 
themselves. 

"March  10,  1868.  My  darling  is  gradually  but  slowly 
regaining  strength,  the  doctor  saying  he  can  give  no 
medicine,  but  that  he  can  only  stand  still  in  awe  before 
the  marvels  of  nature,  whilst  we,  the  watchers,  are  gradu- 
ally rallying  from  the  great  strain  and  tension  of  the  last 
week. 

"Yesterday  was  Santa  Francesca  Romana's  day.  I 
went  to  her  house,  the  old  Ponziani  Palace,  now  the 
Ezercizii  Pii,  hung  outside  for  the  day  with  battered 
tapestry  and  strewn  within  with  box.     The  rooms  inside 


396  THE   STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1868 

are  the  same  as  when  the  Saint  lived  in  them,  with 
raftered  ceilings,  and  many  of  them  turned  into  chapels. 
Downstairs  is  the  large  room  which  she  turned  into  a 
hospital,  and  there  is  a  bright  open  courtyard  planted  with 
orange-trees,  though  certainly  nothing  of  the  '  magnificent 
Ponziani  Palace*  described  by  Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton 
in  In  r  book. 

"Thence  to  the  Tor  de'  Specchi,  where  a  cardinal,  a 
number  of  Roman  ladies,  and  a  crowd  of  others  were  pass- 
ing through  the  bright  old  rooms  covered  with  frescoes 
and  tapestry,  and  looking  into  the  pleasant  courtyards  of 
the  convent  with  their  fountains  and  orange-trees.  Up- 
stairs is  a  One  chapel,  where  the  skeleton  of  the  Saint  lies 
under  the  altar,  dressed  as  an  Oblate  (with  the  face 
exposed),  but  in  a  white  veil  and  white  gloves !  The 
living  Oblates  flitting  about  were  very  interesting  pictu- 
resque-looking women,  mostly  rather  old.  Several  relics 
of  Santa  Francesca  are  preserved.  On  a  table  near  the 
entrance  was  the  large  flat  vase  in  which  she  made  oint- 
ment for  the  poor,   filled  with  flowers. 

"  On  Sunday,  when  many  ladies  went  to  the  Pope,  he 
made  them  a  little  sermon  about  their  guardian  angels  and 
Sta.  Francesca  Romana." 

"March  15.  My  sweet  Mother  is  in  almost  exactly  the 
same  state  —  a  sort  of  dormouse  existence,  and  so  weak 
that  she  can  scarcely  hold  up  her  head;  yet  she  has  been 
twice  wheeled  into  the  sitting-room. 

il  T  have  been  with  the  Fitzmaurices  to  the  Castle  of  S. 
Angelo,  very  curious,  and  the  prisons  of  Beatrice  Cenci 
and  her  stepmother,  most  ghastly  and  horrid.  There  are 
between  seven  and  eight  hundred  men  there  now,  and 
many  prisoners.  Over  the  prison  doors  passers-by  had 
made  notes  in  chalk:  one  was,  '  O  voi  che  entrate  qui, 
lasciate  ogni  speranza; '  another,  '  On  sait  quand  on  entre, 
on  ne  sait  pas  quand  on  sort; '  another,  '  Hotel  des 
Martyrs.' 


1868]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     397 

"  On  Friday  evening  I  rushed  with  all  the  world  to  the 
receptions  of  the  new  cardinals  —  first  to  the  Spanish 
Embassy,  then  to  the  Colonna  to  see  Cardinal  Bonaparte,1 
who  has  a  most  humble  manner  and  a  beautiful  refined 
face  like  Manning  at  his  best;  and  then  to  the  Inquisition, 
where  Cardinal  de  Monaco  was  waiting  to  receive  in  rooms 
which  were  almost  empty." 


CASTLE    OF    ESTE/ 


"March  30.  The  dear  Mother  makes  daily  progress. 
She  has  the  sofa  in  her  bedroom,  and  lies  there  a  great 
deal  in  the  sunny  window. 

"I  went  to  Mrs.  Lockwood's  theatricals,  to  which,  as 
she  said,  '  all  the  people  above  the  rank  of  a  duchess  were 
asked  down  to  the  letter  M. '  The  play,  IS  Aieule,  was 
wonderfully   well   done   by  Princess  Radziwill,    Princess 

1  Prince  Lucien,  son  of  the  Roman  Prince  Charles  Lucien  (nephew 
of  Napoleon  I.)  and  of  Zenaide,  only  child  of  Joseph,  King  of  Naples 
and  Spain. 

2  From  "Northern  Italy." 


398  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

Pallavicini,  Princess  Scilla,  Duca  del  Gallo,  and  others,  a 
most  beautiful  electric  light  being  let  in  when  the  grand- 
mother  steals  in  to  give  the  poison  to  the  sleeping  girl." 

"May  8.  We  leave  Rome  to-morrow  —  leave  it  in  a 
flush  of  summer  glory,  in  a  wealth  unspeakahle  of  foliage 
and  flowers,  orange  blossoms  scenting  our  staircase,  the 
sky  deep  blue. 

"All  the  last  fortnight  poor  Emma  Simpkinson1  has 
been  terribly  ill  —  a  great  anxiety  to  us  as  to  what  was 
best  to  be  done  for  her,  but  we  hope  now  that  she  may  be 
moved  to  England,  and  I  must  go  with  my  restored 
Mother,  who  is  expanding  like  a  flower  in  the  sunshine. 

"This  afternoon,  at  the  crowded  time,  the  young 
Countess  Crivelli,  the  new  Austrian  Ambassadress,  drove 
down  the  Corso.  At  the  Porta  del  Popolo  she  met  her 
husband's  horse  without  a  rider.  Much  alarmed,  she 
drove  on,  and  a  little  farther  on  she  found  her  husband's 
d.ad  body  lying  in  the  road.  She  picked  it  up,  and  drove 
back  down  the  Corso  with  the  dead  man  by  her  side." 

Amongst  the  many  English  who  spent  this  spring 
in  Rome,  I  do  not  find  any  note,  in  my  diaries,  of 
Lord  Houghton,  yet  his  dinners  for  six  in  the  Via 
S.  Basilio  wore  delightful.  His  children  were  real 
children  then,  and  his  son,  Robin,2  a  boy  of  wonderful 
promise.  Lord  Houghton  was  never  satisfied  with 
talking  well  and  delightfully  himself;  his  great 
charm  was  his  evident  desire  to  draw  out  all  the  good 
there  was  in  other  people. 

1  Emma  Simpkinson  reached  England  before  us,  but  was  then 
rapidly  waning  heavenwards.  She  spent  the  last  few  weeks  of  her 
life  at  St.  Leonards,  where  we  had  the  great  comfort  of  being  able  to 
cheer  and  watch  over  her,  and  she  is  buried  in  the  cemetery  at  Ore. 

'-'  Afterwards  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland. 


1868]     ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     399 

Journal. 

"  Venice,  May  10,  1868.  We  had  a  terribly  hot  journey 
by  Spoleto  and  Ancona,  and  came  on  to  Este.  It  is  a 
long  drive  up  from  the  station  to  the  primitive  little  town 
close  under  the  Euganean  Hills,  with  the  ruined  castle 
where  the  first  Guelph  was  born.  The  inn  (La  Speranza) 
is  an  old  palace,  and  our  sitting-room  was  thirty-four  feet 
long.     The  country  is  luxuriance  itself,  covered  with  corn 


petrarch's  tomb,  a  Ryu  a.1 

and  flax,  separated  by  rows  of  peach  and  tig  trees,  with 
vines  leaping  from  tree  to  tree.  I  drove  to  Arqua,  a  most 
picturesque  village  in  a  hollow  of  the  hills.  In  the  little 
court  of  the  church  is  Petrarch's  tomb,  of  red  Verona 
marble,  and  on  the  high  ridge  his  house,  almost  unaltered, 
with  old  frescoes  of  his  life,  his  chair,  his  chest,  and  his 
stuffed  cat,  shrunk  almost  to  a  weasel." 


"Augsburg,  May  24.  From  Venice  we  saw  Torcello  — 
the  Mother,  Lea,  and  I  in  a  barca  gliding  over  those 
shallow  mysterious  waters  to  the  distant   island  and  its 

1  From  "Northern  Italy." 


THE   STORY   OF    MY   LIFE 


[18138 


decaying  church,  vrhere  we  sat  to  draw  near  Attala's 
marble  chair  half  buried  in  the  rank  growth  of  the 
mallows. 

"We  came  away  by  an  early  brain  to  Verona,  and  drove 
in  tlic  afternoon  to  San  Zenone,  and  then  to  the  beautiful 
(iinsti  gardens  for  the  sunset.  Mother  was  able  to  clinih 
up  to  the  summer-house  on  the  height,  and  the  gardener 
gave  us  pinks  and  roses. 


TOMB   OF    HIE    COUNT    OF   CASTEEBARCO,    VERONA.1 


"  On  the  24th  we  came  on  to  Trent,  a  most  attractive 
place,  with  an  interesting  cathedral,  line  fountains,  beau- 
tiful trees,  and  surroundings  of  jagged  pink  mountains 
tipped  with  snow.  Cheating  the  Alps  by  crossing  the 
Brenner,  we  Avent  by  Salzburg  to  Berchtesgaden,  where 
we  found  quiet  rooms  with  a  splendid  view  of  the  snow- 
dad  Watzmann.  We  were  rowed  down  the  Konigsee  as 
far  as  the  waterfall,  Lea  dreadfully  frightened  on  the 
Lake." 

1  From  "  Northern  Italy." 


1868]    ENGLISH   PLEASURES   AND   ROMAN   TRIALS     401 

From  Augsburg  we  went  to  Oberwesel  on  the 
Rhine,  where  we  were  very  happy  in  a  primitive 
hotel  amid  the  vines  and  old  timber-houses.  On  our 
second  morning  there,  while  I  was  drawing  on  the 
shore  of  the  river,  a  strange  and  terrible  presentiment 
came  over  me  of  some  great  misfortune,  some  over- 
whelming grief  which  was  then  taking  place  in  Eng- 
land. I  threw  down  my  drawing  things  and  hurried 
back  to  the  hotel  to  my  mother.  "  Never,"  I  said, 
"  have  these  sudden  presentiments  come  to  me  with- 
out meaning.  I  am  sure  you  will  listen  to  me  when 
I  say  that  we  ought  to  be  in  England  directly."  — 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  quite  believe  it ;  let  us  go  at 
once ; "  and  then  and  there,  in  the  hot  morning,  we 
walked  down  to  the  train.  We  travelled  all  night, 
and  at  daybreak  we  were  in  England.  I  confess  that, 
as  we  travelled,  the  detailed  impression  which  I  had 
from  my  presentiment  was  wrong.  I  thought  of 
what  would  have  affected  my  mother  most.  I  fan- 
cied that,  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  Rhine  shore,  Arthur 
Stanley  had  died  at  Westminster.  But  John  Gid- 
man  met  us  with  our  little  carriage  at  Hastings,  and 
as  we  drove  up  to  Holmhurst  he  told  me  the  dreadful 
truth  —  that,  at  the  very  moment  of  my  presenti- 
ment, my  sister  Esmeralda  had  expired. 

I  still  feel  the  echo  of  that  terrible  anguish. 


vol.  n.  —  26 


XIII 
LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA 

"Sleep  sweetly,  dear  one;  thou  will  wake  at  dawn."  —  Moschus. 

••  Her  mind  was  one  of  those  pure  mirrors  from  which  the  polluting 
breath  passes  awaj  as  it  touches  it."  —  Bishop  Heber. 

"Cette  longue  el   cruelle  maladie  qu'on  appelle  la  vie,  est  enfin 
guerie. '  —Mademoiselle  d'Espinasse. 

••  Lei  her  pure  soul  .  .  . 
Remain  my  pledge  in  heaven,  as  sent  to  show 
How  to  this  portal  everj  step  I  go." 

—  Sir  John  Beaumont. 

I  think  that  I  have  not  written  anything  concerning 
the  life  of  my  sister  alter  we  met  her  at  Rome  in  the 
winter  of  1865-66.  Since  that  time  she  has  heen 
more  incessantly  engrossed  by  the  affairs,  and  often 
very  trivial  interests,  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church, 
Imt  without  for  a  moment  relaxing  her  affection  and 
cordiality  towards  us.  Great  was  my  pleasure  in 
watching  how.  in  spite  of  all  religious  differences,  my 
mother  became  increasingly  fond  of  her  every  time 
they  met.  I  think  it  is  William  Penn  who  says, 
••  The  meek,  the  just,  the  pious,  the  devout,  are  all  of 
one  religion." 

On  leaving  Rome  in  1866,  Esmeralda  made  it  an 
object  to  visit  the  famous  "Nun  of  Monza,"  Ancilla 
Ghizza,  called  in  religion  the"Madre  Serafina  della 


1864]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  403 

Croce."  This  nun  had  been  founding  a  religious 
order  at  Monza,  which  was  at  first  intended  to  be 
affiliated  to  the  Sacramentarie  on  the  Quirinal  at 
Rome.  She  was  supposed  to  have  not  only  the 
"stigmata,"  but  the  marks  of  our  Lord's  scourging, 
to  be  gifted  with  a  wonderful  power  and  knowledge 
of  the  interior  life,  and  to  possess  the  gift  of  prophecy. 
She  was  summoned  to  Rome,  and,  after  three  years' 
noviciate  at  the  Sacramentarie,  she  was  permitted,  in 
1862,  to  return  to  Monza,  and  to  begin  her  commun- 
ity, fifteen  nuns  being  clothed  at  the  same  time.  She 
used  to  distribute  little  crosses  which  she  declared  to 
have  been  blessed  by  our  Lord  in  person,  and  she  was 
often  in  an  ecstasy,  in  which  it  was  alleged  that  her 
body  became  so  light  that  she  could  be  raised  from 
the  ground  by  a  single  hair  of  her  head !  Concern- 
ing Serafina  della  Croce,  Esmeralda  had  already 
received  from  a  celebrated  Italian  ecclesiastic  the 
following :  — 


'O 


"  Vcnezia,  3  Gcnnaio,  1864.  Mi  scusi  se  io  cosi  presto 
riprendo  la  penna,  per  offrirle  il  mio  povero  tentative*  di 
consolarla,  sotto  la  forma  di  questa  piccola  croce,  die  io 
ebbi  dall'  Ancilla  Ghizzi  di  Monza,  e  che  e  stata  benedetta 
dalle  mani  stesse  di  Nostro  Signore  in  una  visione.  Io 
potrei  dirle  molto  di  queste  croci,  ma  ci  vorrebbe  troppo 
tempo.  Cosi  io  le  dird  soltanto  per  affermare  la  sua 
opinione  sopra  la  santita  di  questa  serva  di  Dio,  che  io 
conosco  qui  un  sacerclote  che  ando  a  vederla,  e  al  quale 
il  confessore  dell'  Ancilla  delego  la  sua  autorita,  dicendogli 
che  poteva  comandarla  ed  interrogarla  per  un'  ora,  come 
se  fosse  lui  stesso  il  suo  confessore.  Infatti,  portatosi 
dall'    Ancilla,    senza    che    essa  fosse    stata    avvertita    di 


401  THE  STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1866 

quest' accordo  fra  loro,  U  Sacerdote  le  diede  mentalmente 
l»  obbedienza  di  unirsi  eon  Dio  in  orazione,  ed  essa  imme- 
diatamente  andd  in  estasi,  e  continuo  un'  ora  intera  in 
questostato,  nel  qua]  tempo  egli  le  domandd  mentalmente 
varie  cost-  in  rapporto  a  certe  persone  che  desiderebbero 
,  3sere  raccomandate  a  lie  sue  preghiere,  ed  essa  rispondeva 
al  suo  precetto  mentale,  raccomandandogli  ogni  persona  ed 
ogni  domanda  al  Signore  di  viva  race,  continuando  cosi  un 
dialogo  dod  Lnterrotto.  Qualche  volta  per  la  soddisfazione 
di  una  terza  persona  che  era  presente,  questo  Sacerdote 
gli  diceva  all*  orecchio  il  soggetto  sopra  il  quale  voleva 
schiarimento.  Debbo  aggiungere  che  in  questo  stato  il 
suo  corpo  e*  cosi  leggiero  die  la  poteva  sollevare  da  terra 
per  un  solo  dei  suoi  capelli,  come  se  non  avesse  piu  nessun 
peso.  Ho  pure  veduto  dei  manoscritti  voluminosi  del  suo 
confessore  pieni  di  maraviglie,  e  che  dimostrano  che  la 
sua  familiarita  colle  cose  e  colle  persone  celesti  e  arrivata 
ad  un  tal  punto,  che  si  pud  ben  paragonare  a  tutto  cio  che 
si  legge  nelle  vite  dei  santi.  Anzi  a  me  mi  pare  che 
supera  tutto  quel  che  io  ho  letto  fin  qui." 

Another  intention  of  Esmeralda  was  to  visit  "  Tor- 
chio,"  the  inspired  cobbler  at  Turin,  and  consult  him 
on  various  subjects.  This  Torchio  had  had  the  most 
extraordinary  visions  of  the  Judgment;  but  alas!  I 
neglected  to  write  clown  the  long  verbal  account 
which  my  sister  gave  me  of  her  visit  to  him,  and  thus 
it  is  lost.  I  have  only  the  following,  written  in  cross- 
ing the  Mont  Cenis  with  an  Asiatic  bishop,  to  whom 
Esmeralda  had  offered  a  place  in  her  carriage:  — 

"June  4,  1866.  For  three  days  running  before  leaving 
Rome,  I  had  the  visits  of  the  venerable  Monsignor  Natale, 
and  we  talked  of  coming  events  in  the  political  world.  I 
went  over  from  Pisa  to  Leghorn,  and  there  I  saw  a  very 


1866]  LAST  YEARS  OF   ESMERALDA  405 

remarkable  person  called  Suora  Carolina.  We  went  to 
Milan  for  one  day,  and  from  thence  to  Monza.  I  saw  the 
bishop,  and  besought  and  entreated,  and  at  last  he  gave 
permission,  and  I  was  the  first  to  pass  through  the  closed 
door  of  the  convent  and  to  kneel  and  kiss  the  hand  of  the 
saint.  Auntie  went  with  me.  I  can  never  express  what 
I  felt.  It  was  like  seeing  S.  Francesco  d'Assisi,  and  it 
seemed  like  a  dream  as,  side  by  side,  we  walked  through 
the  cloister  and  then  went  up  into  her  cell:  one  so  highly 
favoured!  it  was  too  much  happiness.  All  I  had  heard 
was  nothing  to  the  reality,  and  there  was  Auntie  sitting  in 
her  cell,  the  other  nuns  standing  round.  Her  face  was 
quite  beautiful,   quite  heavenly. 

"And  then  we  returned  to  Milan  and  started  for  Turin, 
and  there  I  went  to  see  Torchio,  the  celebrated  Torchio, 
as  he  sat  on  his  basket  and  spoke  as  he  was  inspired.  It 
was  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  sermon,  both  in  word  and 
action.  When  he  spoke  of  the  Passion,  one  seemed  to 
follow  him  to  Calvary.  He  is  a  poor  man  living  at  the 
top  of  a  very  poor  house,  but  he  is  an  apostle." 

Esmeralda  returned  to  London  to  Mrs.  Thorpe's, 
but  in  the  autumn  she  went  north  and  paid  visits  to 
the  Monteiths  and  Stourtons  and  to  Lady  Hemes  in 
Yorkshire.  Lady  Herries  said  afterwards  that  she 
liked  to  think  of  her  as  she  so  often  saw  her  in  the 
chapel  at  Everingham,  praying,  "  oh,  so  fervently," 
for  hours  together.  As  her  life  became  more  absorbed 
in  devotion  and  religious  interests,  she  was  conscious 
of  the  danger  of  neglecting  earthly  duties  and  sympa- 
thies.    On  August  4,  1866,  she  wrote  :  — 

"Let  me  walk  in  the  presence  of  God  without  under- 
rating His  gifts,  for  the  underrating  of  God's  gifts  is  one 
of  the  temptations  which  I  am  required  to  tight  against." 


km;  the  story  of  my  life  [isgo 

( in  September  8  she  wrote  :  — 

"Lei  me  surrender  entirely  my  individual  will,  to  be 
completely  united  and  absorbed  in  the  will  of  Jesus  Christ, 
—  then  will  the  truths  of  Christianity  become  a  fixed  life 
in  my  soul. 

"The  great  impediment  to  the  life  of  Jesus  in  the  soul 
is  the  aiming  at  mediocrity  in  things  pertaining  to  our 
Lord  and  to  a  spiritual  life;  whereas  our  Master  would 
have  us  aim  at  perfection,  and  hear  in  mind  as  a  command 
I  lis  words.  '  Be  ye  perfect.' 

In  August  Esmeralda  was  thrown  into  real  heart- 
mourning  by  the  news  which  reached  England  of  the 
death  of  "the  Great  Mother,"  Maria  de  Matthias. 
The  following  is  from  Pierina  Rolleston,  Superior  of 
the  Order  of  the  Precious  Blood  in  England:  — 

"  Mv  own  dearest  in  the  precious  blood,  I  write  in  haste, 
and  while  I  write  my  tears  are  flowing,  because  I  have 
sad  news  to  tell  you  and  dear  Mrs.  Montgomery,  who  are 
both  children  of  the  Institute,  and  love  our  beloved 
Mother- General,  who  is  in  heaven,  praying  for  us  all. 
The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  letter  I  received  yesterday 
from  Monsignor  Talbot:  —  'I  write  to  announce  to  you 
the  death  of  your  Mother-General.  She  expired  two  days 
ago  -died  as  she  lived,  after  giving  examples  of  patience 
and  resignation  in  the  midst  of  her  sufferings.  To-morrow 
her  funeral  will  be  celebrated  at  the  Church  of  SS. 
Vincenzo  ed  A.nastasio,  and  I  intend  to  attend.  I  do  not 
think  von  need  fear  for  the  future  of  your  Institute, 
because  I  think  that  the  successor  oi  your  late  Mother- 
General,  though  she  may  not  be  so  saintly  a  person,  will 
be  equally  able  to  carry  on  the  business.  I  do  not  think 
you  can  be  too  grateful  to  Almighty  God  for  having  such 
friends  as  Monsignor   Paterson  and   Miss  Hare.'   .   .   .   My 


1866]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  407 

dearest,  I  write  in  haste  that  you  may  receive  all  the  news 
of  our  beloved  Mother.  Sister  Carolina  Longo,  whom  she 
named  as  her  successor  upon  her  death-bed,  is  a  good 
clever  nun,  and  she  was  Mother's  dear  child.  She  lived 
with  Mother  from  a  child  of  eight  years  old,  and  became  a 
religious  about  the  age  of  twenty- two.  We  have  lost  one 
of  the  dearest  of  mothers,  but  can  look  up  to  her  in 
heaven,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  help  us  in  our  work.  .  .  . 
With  fond  love  in  the  precious  blood,  I  am  always  your 
most  affectionate  in  Christ, 

"PlERINA    OF    THE    PRECIOUS    BLOOD." 

The  winter  of  1866-67  was  chiefly  passed  by  my 
sister  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Alfred  Montgomery  at 
Meld  near  Crawley,  where  Esmeralda  and  her  aunt 
for  many  months  shared  in  the  housekeeping.  For 
Esmeralda  had  been  induced  to  regard  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery as  a  religious  martyr,  and  her  impressionable 
nature  was  completely  fascinated  by  her  hostess. 
While  at  Ifield,  a  fatal  web  was  drawn  each  day 
more  closely  by  her  Catholic  associates,  by  which  Es- 
meralda was  induced  to  entrust  large  sums  to  her 
brother  Francis  for  speculation  upon  the  political 
prophecies  of  Madame  de  Traffbrd.  Her  unworldly 
nature  was  persuaded  to  consent  to  this  means  of  (as 
Francis  represented)  largely  increasing  her  income, 
by  the  prospect  which  was  held  out  to  her  of  having 
more  money  to  employ  in  assisting  various  religious 
objects,  especially  the  establishment  of  the  Servites  in 
London,  and  the  foundation  of  their  church,  for  which 
she  had  promised  Father  Bosio,  General  of  the  Ser- 
vites, to  supply  £500,  to  be  obtained  either  by  col- 
lections or  otherwise,  at  the  expiration  of  three  years. 


41  IS  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1866 

Esmeralda  never  knew  or  bad  the  faintest  idea  of  the 
sum  to  which  her  speculations  amounted.  She  Mas 
oiled  on  from  day  to  day  by  two  evil  advisers, 
and.  her  hearl  being  in  other  things,  was  induced  to 
trusl  and  believe  that  her  worldly  affairs  were  in  the 
hands  of  disinterested  persons.  The  lists  of  her  in- 
tended employments  for  the  next  day,  so  many  of 
which  remained  amongst  her  papers,  show  how  little 
of  her  time  and  attention  was  given  to  pecuniary 
matters.  From  them  it  is  seen  that  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  allotted  to  the  discussion  of  investments  with 
her  brother  would  be  preceded  by  an  hour  spent  in 
writing  about  the  affairs  of  a  French  convent  or  the 
maintenance  of  a  poor  widow  in  Home,  and  followed 
by  an  hour  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  Servites  or 
-Mine  other  religious  body.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
Ksineralda  undertook  far  more  than  was  good  either 
for  her  health  or  for  her  mind;  each  hour  of  every 
day  was  portioned  out  from  the  day  before,  and  was 
fully  and  intensely  occupied,  especially  when  she  was 
in  London.  If  visitors  or  any  unexpected  circum- 
stance prevented  the  task  for  which  she  had  allotted 
any  particular  hour,  she  did  not  leave  it  on  that  ac- 
count unfulfilled,  but  only  detracted  from  the  hours  of 
rest.  One  thing  alone,  her  daily  meditation,  she 
allowed  nothing  to  interfere  with.  In  the  hours  of 
meditation  she  found  the  refreshment  which  helped 
her  through  the  rest  of  the  day.  "  Our  Lord  requires 
of  us  that  our  souls  shall  become  a  tabernacle  for 
Him  to  dwell  in,"  she  wrote  on  February  2,  1867, 
"and  the  lam])  lighted  before  it  is  the  lamp  of  our 
affections." 


1866]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  409 

All  through  the  summer  of  1866,  my  brother  Wil- 
liam's health  had  been  declining,  and  in  the  autumn, 
in  the  hope  of  benefit  from  the  sea-breezes,  he  was 
moved  to  Brighton,  which  he  never  left.  After 
Christinas  day  he  was  never  able  to  leave  the  house. 
The  small  fortune  of  his  pretty,  helpless  wife  had  been 
lost  in  a  bankruptcy,  and  they  were  reduced  to  a  state 
of  destitution  in  which  they  were  almost  devoid  of  the 
absolute  necessaries  of  life.  The  following  are  ex- 
tracts from  William's  letters  to  his  sister  at  this 
time  :  — 

"  You  cannot  imagine  how  I  miss  your  letters  when  you 
cease  to  write  for  any  length  of  time.  .  .  .  Since  Sunday 
I  have  been  confined  to  my  bed,  having  almost  lost  all  use 
of  my  limbs.  I  could  not  possibly  be  moved  to  our  sitting- 
room,  being  in  so  weak  and  emaciated  a  condition,  and  I 
fear  I  shall  have  to  keep  my  bed  all  through  this  bitter 
cold  weather.  I  am  so  miserably  thin  that  it  is  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  that  I  can  contrive  to  sit  or  lie  in  any 
position.  It  is,  however,  God's  will  that  it  should  be  so, 
and  I  am  enabled  to  say  '  Thy  will  be  done,  O  Lord. '  .  .  . 
God  has  mercifully  vouchsafed  me  time  for  repentance, 
and  has  brought  me  back  to  Himself,  and  made  me  one 
with  Him  by  strengthening  me  with  His  own  body,  so 
that,  dear  sister,  I  feel  supremely  happy  and  at  peace  with 
all  the  world ;  and  should  it  please  Almighty  God  to  call 
me  hence,  I  feel  serene  in  His  love,  that  He  has  graciously 
forgiven  me  all  my  sins,  and  that  He  will  take  me  to 
Himself  where  there  is  no  longer  any  pain  or  suffering. 
Father  Crispin  came  on  Wednesday  to  hear  my  confes- 
sion, and  on  Thursday  morning  he  administered  the  most 
Blessed  Sacrament  to  me.  .  .  .  Dear  Edith  has  received 
£10  lately,  which  you  may  well  suppose  at  this  critical 
time  was  obtained  with  very  great  difficulty ;  but  all  this 


|||)  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1S67 

money  has  been  expended  on  my  illness,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing left  for  the  doctor's  visits,  medicine,  or  to  pay  the 
butcher,  baker,   washerwoman,  milk,  or  coal  bill.     Yet  it 

will  not  do  to  give  up  the  doctor  in  my  critical  state,  or  to 
cease  taking  his  medicine,  or  to  denj  myself  the  necessary 
restoratives;  if  I  did  I  must  inevitably  sink.  Will  you 
not,  in  compassion  for  my  fallen  state,  consent  to  make  me 
sonic  sort  of  allowance  during  my  illness  to  enable  me  to 
obtain  what  is  necessary  ? 

"Mr.  Blackwood  (you  will  remember  'Beauty  Black- 
wood." who  married  the  Duchess  of  Manchester1)  has  sent 
me  a  little  book  which  he  has  just  published  —  'The 
Shadow  and  the  Substance,'  which  he  assures  me  is  quite 
free  from  controversy,  and  he  desires  me  to  read  it  with 
especial  care  and  attention,  as  being  conducive  to  my 
comfort  during  hours  of  sickness  and  suffering." 

My  sister  immediately  sent  William  all  he  re- 
quired, when  he  again  wrote:  — 

"How  can  I  thank  you  sufficiently  for  so  generously 
responding  to  my  appeal  in  more  senses  than  one,  by  send- 
ing me  money  to  relieve  the  pressure  of  want,  books  to 
comfort  me  in  hours  of  sickness,  and  wine  to  cheer  and 
strengthen  me?  .  .  .  Should  I  be  spared,  I  must  accept 
this  illness  as  one  of  the  greatest,  indeed  the  greatest 
Messing  I  could  possibly  receive,  for  it  has  taught  me  my 
own  nothingness,  my  all  insufficiency,  and  it  has  drawn 
me  from  a  sphere  of  sin  into  a  sphere  of  grace;  it  has 
caused  me  to  despise  the  world  and  all  its  vanities,  and 
has  diverted  my  heart  and  whole  being  to  Almighty  God; 
it  has  brought  me  into  close  communion  with  Him, 
strengthened  by  the  graces  of  His  Holy  Sacraments,  and 
has  made  me  fee]  the  blessedness  of  constant  prayer.     Oh, 

1  Afterwards  Sir  Arthur  Blackwood,  Secretary  to  the  Post-Office. 
He  died  1893. 


1867]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  411 

I  would  not  change  my  present  state  for  worlds ;  and  should 
it  please  Almighty  God  to  call  me  from  hence  I  feel  that 
He  will  receive  me  into  everlasting  peace.  Father  Crispin 
called  last  evening :  he  considers  me  so  prostrate  that  he 
intends  administering  the  sacrament  of  Extreme  Unction. 
Pray  for  me  !  I  cannot  express  to  you  how  rejoiced  I  am 
that  we  are  again  hand  in  hand  together.  You  should  not 
forget  the  days  of  our  youth,  we  were  always  inseparable; 
we  were  then  estranged  from  each  other,  and  a  very,  very 
hitter  time  that  was  to  me.  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  any 
better." 

After  the  receipt  of  this  letter  my  sister  hurried 
to  Brighton,  and  she  was  there  when  William  died. 
On  the  11th  of  March  she  wrote  to  me :  — 

"  We  are  here  to  be  with  William,  to  wait  by  his  bedside 
during  these  last  days  of  his  illness.  On  Thursday  night, 
and  again  on  Friday  night,  it  seemed  as  if  the  last  hour 
was  come,  but  there  is  now  a  slight,  a  very  slight  improve- 
ment, so  that  he  may  live  a  few  days  longer.  Yesterday 
there  came  over  him  a  momentary  wish  to  recover,  but  it 
passed  away,  and  his  calm  resignation  was  really  unbroken 
and  continues  the  same  to-day.  He  does  not  murmur, 
though  his  sufferings  must  be  terrible.  .  .  .  From  time 
to  time  he  asks  me  to  read  aloud  a  few  lines  of  the  '  Imi- 
tation of  Christ, '  but  I  can  scarcely  do  it  without  breaking 
down  as  I  look  up  and  see  those  sunken  cheeks  and  large 
glazed  eyes  fixed  upon  me  with  such  a  deep  look  of  intense 
suffering." 

Two  unexpected  friends  appeared  to  cheer  Wil- 
liam's last  clays.  One  was  the  young  Duchess  of 
Sutherland,  who  had  been  intimate  with  him  as  a 
child,   and   having   never  met   him    since    the    days 


II;.'  THE   STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1S67 

when  they  both  lived  in  the  Maison  Valin,  heard 
accidentally  of  his  illness  at  Brighton;  she  came 
repeatedly  to  see  him,  and  supplied  him  with  many 
mforts,  and  even  luxuries.  The  other  was  the 
well-known  Miss  Marsh,  the  authoress  of  the  "  Me- 
morials of  Bedley  Vicars,"  —  the  staunch  Protestant, 
hut  liberal  Christian.  She  happened  to  call  to  see 
the  landlady  of  the  lodging  where  he  was,  when, 
hearing  of  William's  illness  and  poverty,  she  went 
constantly  to  visit  him,  and  laying  aside  in  the 
shadow  of  death  all  wish  for  controversy,  read  and 
prayed  with  him  in  the  common  sympathy  of  their 
Christian  faith  and  trust.     She  wrote  afterwards:  — 

"Blessed  he  God  that  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  dying 
friend  in  whom  1  have  been  so  deeply  interested  was  in 
Christ  and  is  now  with  Him.  We  never  spoke  together 
of  Romanism  or  Protestantism;  all  I  cared  for  was  to 
persuade  him,  by  the  help  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  to  accept  at 
once  the  offer  of  a  tree  and  present  salvation  through  our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  and  through  Him  only: 
and  to  believe  Cod's  word  that  he  that  believeth  on  the 
Son  of  God  hath  everlasting  life,  heeause  of  His  one  sacri- 
fice once  offered  for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world.  And  lie 
did  believe  it.  and  false  confidences  faded  away  like 
shadows  before  the  sunrise.  '  Jesus  only '  became  all  his 
salvation  and  all  his  desire,  and  he  passed  into  His 
presence  with  a  radiant  smile  of  joy.  I  was  not  with  him 
when  he  died,  bui  the  hour  of  communing  with  his  spirit 
that  same  evening  was  one  of  the  sweetest  1  have  spent  on 
earth." 

Mv  sister  has  left  some  notes  of  that  which 
occurred  after  William's  death:  — 


1867]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  413 

"  After  all  was  over,  and  when  the  room  was  decorated 
and  the  body  laid  out,  Miss  Marsh  came  to  see  him,  and 
taking  his  dead  hand,  she  placed  a  white  camellia  in  it. 
Then  kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  she  offered  up  the 
most  beautiful  prayer  aloud,  in  which  she  described  as  in 
a  picture  our  Blessed  Lord  and  the  angels  receiving  his 
soul.  It  was  quite  wonderfully  beautiful :  there  was  only 
one  thing  she  left  out;  she  never  mentioned  Our  Blessed 
Lady;  she  placed  the  angels  before  our  Lady.  I  was 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  with  a  crucifix,  and  when 
she  ceased  praying,  I  said,  '  But  you  have  never  spoken  of 
Our  Lady:  I  cannot  let  Our  Lady  be  passed  over.'  And 
Miss  Marsh  was  not  angry;  no,  she  only  rose  from  her 
knees,  and  coming  to  me,  she  threw  her  arms  round  my 
neck  and  said,  '  Do  not  let  us  dispute  upon  this  now ;  we 
have  one  God  and  one  Saviour  in  common,  let  us  rest 
upon  these,'  and  she  came  to  see  me  afterwards  when  I 
was  ill  in  London. 

" '  Know  thou  that  courtesy  is  one  of  God's  own  proper- 
ties, who  sendeth  His  rain  and  His  sunshine  upon  the  just 
and  the  unjust  out  of  His  great  courtesy;  and  verily 
Courtesy  is  the  sister  of  Charity,  who  banishes  hatred  and 
cherishes  love.'  Were  not  these  the  words  of  the  dear 
S.   Francis  of  Assisi? 

"During  William's  illness  Miss  Marsh  came  everyday 
with  something  for  him,  and  quite  stripped  her  own  room 
to  give  him  her  own  chair,  and  even  her  mattress.  She 
was  just  the  one  person  William  wanted.  Any  dried-up 
person  might  have  driven  him  back,  but  she  was  daily 
praying  by  his  side,  handsome,  enthusiastic,  dwelling 
only  on  the  love  of  God,  and  she  helped  him  on  till  he 
began  really  to  think  the  love  of  God  the  only  thing  worth 
living  for. 

"'  O  sister,'  he  said  to  me  once,  'if  it  should  please 
God  that  I  should  live,  all  my  life  would  be  given  up  to 
Him.' 


■  Ill  THE   STOKY  OF  .MY    LIFE  [1867 

"The  doctor  who  wenl  up  to  him  when  he  was  told  that 
he  could  j i < > t  live  many  hours  came  down  with  tears  upon 
his  face.  'There  must  indeed  be  something  in  religion,' 
he  said,  'when  that  young  man  can  be  so  resigned  to 
.lie. 

On  the  Saturday  after  William's  death  my  sister 
wrote  to  us:  — 

"  Now  that  dear  William's  last  call  has  come,  I  feel 
thankful  for  his  sake.  The  good  priest  who  attended 
him  in  all  the  latter  part  of  his  illness  wrote  to  me  the  day 
alter  his  death  that  1  could  have  no  cause  of  anxiety  for 
his  everlasting  welfare.  It  was  a  beautiful  death,  he  was 
so  happy,  peaceful,  and  resigned.  I  had  only  left  him  a 
very  short  time  when  he  again  asked  for  Edith.  She  came 
up  to  his  bedside,  and  then  there  seemed  to  come  over 
William's  luce  a  bright  light  illuminating  his  countenance, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  upwards  with  a  short  sigh,  he  breathed 
his  last.  There  was  no  suffering  then,  no  agony.  I  had 
asked  him  if  he  feared  death.  '  No,'  he  said,  and  looked 
as  if  he  wondered  at  the  thought  coming  into  my  mind, 
lie  fell  he  had  found  the  only  true  peace  and  happiness. 
II.'  told  me  he  wished  to  lie  buried  at  Kensal  Green.  His 
only  anxiety  was  about  poor  Edith,  and  when  I  told  him 
that  I  would  do  what  Lay  in  my  power  for  her,  lie  seemed 
satisfied,  and  never,  I  believe,  gave  this  world  another 
thought,  but  prepared  to  meet  our  Blessed  Lord.  That 
irtiful  look  of  peace  was  on  his  face  after  death. 
Francis  arrived  too  late  to  see  him  alive,  but  when  he 
looked  on  William's  face  he  said,  '  Oh.  sister,  bow  beau- 
tiful! '  The  little  room  was  draped  with  black  and  white. 
There  he  lav.  and  we  were  coming  and  going,  and  praying 
by  the  side  of  the  open  coffin.  On  Tuesday  will  be  the 
funeral.  On  Monday  the  body  will  be  removed  to  the 
Church  of  St.    Mary  of  the   Angels,    Bayswater,  where  it 


1867]  LAST  YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  415 

will  remain  through  the  night,  according  to  devout  Roman 
custom." 

After  the  funeral  Esmeralda  wrote  :  — 

"  Ifield  Lodge,  Crawley.  When  the  long  sad  week  was 
over,  I  felt  all  power  of  further  exertion  gone,  and  yet  it 
seemed,  as  it  does  now,  that  for  the  soul  God  had  taken  to 
Himself,  should  the  happiness  of  that  soul  not  yet  be 
perfected,  prayers  must  be  obtained,  and  that  I  must  work 
on  and  on  as  long  as  life  lasts.  There  is  a  feeling  of  long- 
ing to  help  in  the  mind  of  every  Catholic  for  those 
departed.  On  Monday  the  24th  the  dear  remains  were 
moved  from  Brighton  by  the  6  p.  m.  train.  Auntie  and  I 
went  up  by  the  same  train  from  Three  Bridges,  and  Francis 
came  to  the  Victoria  Station  to  meet  the  coffin;  but  such 
was  the  heavy  feeling  of  sorrow,  that,  though  we  were  on 
the  platform  at  the  same  time,  we  did  not  see  each  other. 

"  The  next  morning  I  went  for  Edith,  and  we  arrived  at 
the  church  early.  The  body  had  been  placed  in  one  of 
the  side-chapels,  and  had  remained  there  through  the 
night.  Before  mass  it  was  brought  out,  and  remained 
before  the  high-altar  during  mass.  There  were  many  of 
William's  friends  present,  and  also  Margaret  Pole,  now 
Mrs.  Baker.  The  funeral  procession  formed  at  the  door 
of  the  church.  As  the  body  was  moved  down  the  church, 
Edith  and  I  followed  after  the  officiating  priests.  I  held 
Edith's  hand  tightly,  and  did  not  intend  her  to  get  into 
one  of  the  mourning  coaches,  but  suddenly,  as  the  hearse 
moved  slowly  from  the  church  door,  she  wrenched  her 
hand. from  my  grasp  and  was  gone  before  I  had  time  to 
speak.  Four  nuns  went  to  say  the  responses  at  the  grave. 
One  was  the  nun  who  had  nursed  dear  Mama  throusrh  her 
last  hours,  and  had  stayed  on  with  me  in  Bryanston  Street. 
I  returned  from  the  church  to  the  hotel,  and  there  Auntie 
and  Edith  found  me  after  the  funeral  was  over. 


416  THE   STOUY    OF  MY   LIFE  [1867 

"The  funeral  service  in  the  church  was  very  solemn, 
hut  there  was  do  weight  of  gloom  or  sadness.  The  strong 
feeling  of  the  safety  of  the  soul  was  such  a  consolation, 

that  the  end  for  which  that  soul  had  heen  created  had 
been  gained,  and  thai  it'  it  were  not  then  in  heaven,  the 
da\  would  conic  soon,  and  could  be  hastened  by  the  prayers 
said  for  it.  His  dear  remains  rest  now  under  the  figure  of 
Our  Lady  of  Sorrows,  which  he  had  so  wished  to  see 
erected.  I  never  looked  forward  to  such  a  deathbed  for 
William,  where  there  would  be  so  much  peace  and  love  of 
God,  and  now  I  can  never  feel  grateful  enough  for  such 
grace  granted  at  the  eleventh  hour.  May  we  all  and  each 
have  as  beautiful  an  end  and  close  of  life.  Edith  says, 
'  ( )h.  1  wish  I  could  see  what  William  saw  when  he  looked 
up  with  that  bright  light  on  his  face.'  With  that  look  all 
suffering  is  blotted  out  of  poor  Edith's  mind,  all  her  long 
watchings. 

"  I  can  never  feel  grateful  enough  to  Miss  Marsh  for  all 
her  kindness  to  William.  It  helped  him  to  God,  and  it 
was  very,  very  beautiful.  ...  I  hope  still  to  go  to  Rome 
for  the  funzione  in  June,  and  also  to  Hungary  for  the 
coronation  of  the  Emperor." 

May  1867  was  passed  by  my  sister  in  London, 
where,  by  her  astonishing  cleverness  and  persever- 
ance, she  finally  gained  the  last  of  her  lawsuits,  that 
for  the  family  plate,  when  it  had  been  lost  in  three 
other  courts.  Soon  after,  in  spite  of  the  great  heat 
of  the"  summer,  Esmeralda  started  for  Rome,  to  be 
present  at  the  canonisation  of  the  Japanese  martyrs, 
I  laying  a  visit  to  Madame  de  Trafford  on  the  way. 
She  wrote  to  me  :  — 

'When  I  first  went  to  Beaujour,  I  was  afraid  to  tell 
Madame    de    Trafford    that    I    intended    to   go  to  Rome. 


1867]  LAST  YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  417 

'  Mais  ou  allez-vous  clone,  ma  cliere  ?  '  said  Madame  de 
Trail ord.  '  Mais,  Madame,  je  vais  ...  en  voyage. '  — 
'  Vous  allez  en  voyage,  9a  je  comprends,  mais  ca  ne  re'pond 
pas  a  ma  question :  vous  allez  en  voyage,  mais  il  faut  aller 
quelque  part,  ou  allez-vous  done?  '  — '  Mais,  Madame,  vous 
verrez  de  mon  re  tour. '  — '  Mais  ou  allez-vous  done,  ma 
chere  ?  dites-moi,  ou  allez-vous  ?  '  — '  Je  vais  a  .  .  .  Rome !  ' 
Madame  de  Trafford  sprang  from  her  chair  as  I  said  this, 
and  exclaimed,  '  Rome,  Rome,  ce  mot  de  Rome,  Rome, 
Rome  .  .  .  et  vous  allez  a  Rome  .  .  .  moi  aussi  je  vais  a 
Rome,'  and  she  went  with  us.  From  the  time  that 
Madame  de  Trafford  determined  to  go,  Auntie  made  no 
opposition  to  our  going,  and  was  quite  satisfied." 

The  journey  to  Rome  with  Madame  de  Trafford 
was  full  of  unusual  incidents.  The  heat  was  most 
intense,  and  my  sister  suffered  greatly  from  it.  At 
Turin  she  was  so  ill  that  she  thought  it  impossible  to 
proceed,  but  Madame  de  Trafford  insisted  upon  her 
getting  up  and  going  on.  Whilst  they  were  still 
en  route  Madame  de  Trafford  telegraphed  to  Rome 
for  a  carriage  and  every  luxury  to  be  in  readiness. 
She  also  telegraphed  to  Pisa  to  bid  M.  Lamarre,  the 
old  family  cook  of  Parisani,  go  to  Rome  to  prepare 
for  them.  My  sister  telegraphed  to  Monsignor  Tal- 
bot to  have  places  reserved  for  the  ceremonies,  &c. 
All  the  last  part  of  the  way  the  trains  were  crowded 
to  the  greatest  possible  degree,  hundreds  of  pilgrims 
joining  at  every  station  in  Umbria  and  the  Cam- 
pagna,  for  whom  no  places  were  reserved,  so  that 
the  train  was  delayed  six  or  seven  hours  behind  its 
time,  and  the  heat  was  increased  by  the  overcrowding, 
to  the  most  terrible  pitch.     My  sister  wrote  :  — 

vol.  11.  —  27 


1  |(s  THE  BTOET   OF   MY   LIFE  [1867 

-In  the  carriage  with  us  from    Florence  was  a  young 
Florentine  aoble,  a  Count  Gondi,  all  of  whose  relations  1 
knew,     He  asked  me  what  I  should  do  after  the  canonisa- 
tion,    'ga  depend,  M.   Le  Comte,  si  on  attaquera  Rome.' 
•  Mais,  certainement  on  L'attaquera.'  — '  Eh  bien,  done 

este.' '  Mais  srous  restez,  Mademoiselle,  si  on  attaque 

Rome?'  —  '  Oui,  certainement.'  — '  Etvous, Madame, 'said 
;iii  Gondi,  turning  bo  Madame  de  Trafford.  '  Mais  si 
on  attaque  Rome,'  said  Madame  de  Trafford,  4  je  ferais 
comme  Mademoiselle  Hare,  je  reste,  biensur.'  His  amaze- 
ment knew  no  hounds. 

"When  we  arrived  at  Rome,  I  was  so  afraid  that 
Madame  de  Trafford  might  do  something  very  extraordi- 
nary that  1  made  her  sleep  in  my  room,  and  slept  myself 
in  the  little  outer  room  which  we  used  to  call  the  library, 
so  that  no  one  could  pass  through  it  to  my  room  without 
my  knowing  it.  The  morning  after  we  arrived  she  came 
into  my  room  before  I  was  up.  I  said,  l  Mais,  Madame, 
c'dtait  a  moi  de  vous  rendre  cette  visite?' — '  Laissez  done 
ces  frivolites, '  said  Madame  de  Trafford,  '  nous  ne  sommes 
pas  ici  pourles  Erivolite's  comme  cela:  parlous  du  serieux; 
commenc.ons. 


i  »j 


The  ceremonies  far  more  than  answered  my  sister's 
expectations.  She  entered  St.  Peter's  with  Madame 
de  Trafford  by  the  Porta  Sta.  Marta,  unci  they  saw 
everything  perfectly.  She  met  the  Duchess  Sora  in 
the  church,  radiant  with  ecstasy  over  what  she  con- 
sidered so  glorious  a  day  for  Catholicism.  "I  knew 
you  would  be  here,"  said  the  Duchess;  "you  could 
not  have  been  away."  The  meeting  was  only  for  a 
moment,  and  was  their  last  upon  earth.  "When 
the  voices  of  the  three  choirs  swelled  into  the 
dome,"  wrote  Esmeralda,  "  then  I  felt  what  the  Pope 


1867]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  419 

expressed  in  words,  'the  triumph  of  the  Church 
has  begun.'  When  we  first  went  into  St.  Peter's, 
Giacinta,1  who  had  fell  I  should  be  there,  was 
waiting  for  me.  '  Eccola,  la  figlia,'  she  said,  '  io 
l'aspettava.'  " 

Afterwards  Giacinta  came  to  see  my  sister  at  the 
Palazzo  Parisani.     "  I  shall  never  forget  the  meetino; 
of  those  two  souls,"  wrote  Esmeralda,   "when  Gia- 
cinta first  saw  Madame  de  Trafford.     They  had  never 
heard  of  one  another  before :  I  had  never  mentioned 
Giacinta  to  Madame  de  Trafford,  and  she  had  never 
heard  of  Madame  de  Trafford,  but  they  understood 
one  another  at  once.      Madame  de   Trafford  passed 
through  the  room  while  Giacinta  was  talking  to  me, 
and  seeing  only  a  figure   in  black  talking,  she  did 
not  stop  and  passed  on.     Giacinta  started  up  and 
exclaimed,  '  Chi  e  ? '  — '  Una  signora,'  I  said.     '  Quello 
si  vede,'  said  Giacinta,  '  ma  quello  non  e  una  risposta 
—  chi  e  ? '  —  and  when  I  told  her,  '  0  vede  un'  anima,' 
she  exclaimed.     Madame  de  Trafford  then  did  what 
I  have  never  known   her  do  for  any  other  person  ; 
she  looked  into  the  room  and  said,  *  Faites-la  passer 
dans  ma  chambre,'  and  we  went  in,  and  the  most 
interesting  conversation  followed." 

As  she  returned  through  Tuscany,  Esmeralda  had 
her  last  meeting  with  her  beloved  Madame  Victoire, 
who  had  then  no  presentiment  of  the  end.  At  Paris 
she  took  leave  of  Madame  cle  Trafford,  and  returned 
to  London,  where  she  for  the  first  time  engaged  a 
permanent  home  —  5  Lower  Grosvenor  Street.  The 
furnishing  of  this  house  was  the  chief  occupation  of 

1  "  The  Saint  of  St.  Peter's."     See  vol.  ii.  p.  4:29. 


IL'I)  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1867 

the  nexl  two  months,  though  Esmeralda  began  by 
depositing  in  the  empty  rooms  a  large  crucifix  which 
Lad\  Lothian  had  given  her,  and  saying,  "Now  the 
house  is  furnished  with  all  that  is  really  important,  and 
Providence  will  send  the  rest."  A  room  at  the  top  of 
the  house  was  arranged  as  an  oratory ;  an  altar  was 
adorned  with  lace,  flowers,  and  images  ;  a  lamp  binned 
all  night  long  before  the  crucifix,  and  if  Esmeralda 
could  Dot  sleep,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  retiring 
thither,  and  spending  long  hours  of  darkness  in  silent 
prayer.  There  also  she  kept  the  vigil  of  "  the  Holy 
Hour."  Early  every  morning  the  Catholic  household 
in  Grosvenor  Street  was  awakened  by  the  sharp  clang 
of  the  prayer-bell  outside  the  oratory  door. 

I  went  to  stay  with  my  sister  in  August  for  a  few 
days.  Esmeralda  was  at  this  time  looking  very  pale 
and  delicate,  but  not  ill.  Though  the  beauty  of  her 
youth  had  passed  away,  and  all  her  troubles  had  left 
their  trace,  she  was  still  very  handsome.  Her  face, 
marble  pale,  was  so  full  of  intelligence  and  expres- 
sion, mingled  with  a  sort  of  sweet  pathos,  that  many 
people  found  her  Ear  more  interesting  than  before, 
and  all  her  movements  were  marked  by  a  stately 
grace  which  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  pass 
unobserved.  Thus  she  was  when  I  last  saw  her, 
pale,  but  smiling  her  farewell,  as  she  stood  in  her 
long  black  dress,  with  her  heavy  black  rosary  round 
her  neck,  leaning  against  the  parapet  of  the  balcony 
outside  the  drawing-room  window. 

All  through  the  winter  Esmeralda  wrote  very 
seldom.  She  was  much  occupied  with  her  different 
books,    some    of    which     seemed    near    publication. 


1867]  LAST  YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  421 

"The  Study  of  Truth,"  upon  which  she  had  been 
occupied  ever  since  1857,  had  now  reached  such 
enormous  dimensions,  that  the  very  arrangement  of 
the  huge  pile  of  MS.  seemed  almost  impossible.  A 
volume  of  modern  American  poetry  was  to  be 
brought  out  for  the  benefit  of  the  Servites,  and  was 
also  in  an  advanced  state ;  yet  her  chief  interest  was 
a  collection  of  the  "  Hymns  of  the  Early  Church," 
obtained  from  every  possible  source,  but  chiefly 
through  the  aid  of  foreign  monasteries  and  convents. 
Upon  this  subject  she  kept  up  an  almost  daily  corre- 
spondence with  the  Padre  Agostino  Morini  of  the 
Servites,  who  was  her  chief  assistant,  especially  in 
procuring  the  best  translations,  as  the  intention 
was  that  the  original  Latin  hymn  should  occupy  one 
page  and  that  the  best  available  translation  should 
in  every  case  be  opposite  to  it :  many  hundreds  of 
letters  remain  of  this  correspondence.  In  the  autumn 
Esmeralda  was  again  at  Ifield  Lodge,  where  she  was 
persuaded  into  a  wild  scheme  for  building  a  town  for 
the  poor  at  Crawley.  Land  was  bought,  measurements 
and  plans  were  taken,  and  a  great  deal  of  money 
was  wasted,  but  Esmeralda  fortunately  withdrew  from 
the  undertaking  before  it  was  too  late. 

But  the  state  of  excitement  and  speculation  in 
which  she  was  now  persuaded  to  live  had  a  terrible 
effect  upon  Esmeralda,  who  had  continued  in  a  weak 
and  nervous  state  ever  since  her  hurried  journey  to 
Rome.  She  now  found  it  difficult  to  exist  without 
the  stimulus  of  daily  excitement,  and  she  added  one 
scheme  and  employment  to  another  in  a  way  which 
the    strongest   brain    could    scarcely  have   borne  up 


[22  THE  STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1867 

asrainst.  On  her  return  to  London  she  threw  herself 
hear!  and  soul  into  what  she  called  a  scheme  for  the 
benefit  of  the  "  poor  rich."  She  remembered  that 
when  she  was  herself  totally  ruined,  one  of  her 
greatest  trials  was  to  see  her  mother  suffer  from  the 
want  of  small  luxuries  in  the  way  of  food  to  which 
she  had  been  accustomed,  and  that  though  their  little 
pittance  allowed  of  what  was  absolutely  necessary, 
London  prices  placed  chickens,  ducks,  cream,  and 
many  other  comforts  beyond  their  reach.  Esmeralda 
therefore  arranged  a  plan  by  which  she  had  over 
twice  a  week,  from  certain  latins  in  Normandy,  large 
baskets  containing  chickens  (often  as  many  as  eighty 
at  a  time),  ducks,  geese,  eggs,  apples,  and  various 
other  articles.  The  prices  of  the  farm  produce  in 
Normandy  were  so  low,  that  she  was  able,  after 
paying  the  carriage,  to  retail  the  contents  of  her 
hampers  to  the  poor  families  she  was  desirous  of 
assisting,  besides  supplying  her  own  house,  at  a  cost 
of  not  more  than  half  the  London  prices.  Many 
families  of  "poor  rich'  availed  themselves  of  this 
help  and  were  most  grateful  for  it,  but  of  course  the 
trouble  involved  by  so  many  small  accounts,  with  the 
expenditure  of  time  in  writing  notes,  &c,  about 
the  disposition  of  her  poultry  was  enormous.  It  was 
in  the  carrying  out  of  this  scheme  that  Esmeralda 
became  acquainted  with  a  person  called  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
wile  of  a  Protestant,  but  herself  a  Roman  Catholic. 
Esmeralda  never  liked  Mrs.  Dunlop;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  both  disliked  and  distrusted  her;  but 
owing  to  her  interesting  herself  in  the  same  charities, 
she  inevitably  saw  a  great  deal  of  her. 


1868]  LAST  YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  423 

During  the  winter  an  alarming  illness  attacked  my 
brother  Francis.  He  was  my  brother  by  birth, 
though  I  had  seldom  even  seen  him,  and  scarcely 
ever  thought  about  him.  Looking  back  now,  in  the 
distance  of  years,  I  wonder  that  my  Mother  and  I 
never  spoke  of  him ;  but  he  was  absolutely  without 
any  part  in  our  lives,  and  we  never  did,  till  this 
winter,  when  my  sister  mentioned  his  refusing  to  go 
to  live  with  her  in  Grosvenor  Street,  which  she  had 
hoped  that  he  would  do  when  she  took  the  house, 
and  of  his  putting  her  to  the  unnecessary  expense  of 
paying  for  lodgings  for  him.  Here  he  caught  cold, 
and  one  day,  unexpectedly,  Dr.  Squires  came  to  tell 
Esmeralda  that  he  considered  him  at  the  point  of 
death.  She  flew  to  his  bedside  and  remained  with 
him  all  through  the  night.  As  she  afterwards 
described  it,  she  "  could  not  let  him  die,  and  she 
breathed  her  life  into  his :  she  was  willing  to  offer 
her  life  for  his." 

After  this  Esmeralda  wrote  to  us  (to  Rome)  that 
the  condition  of  Francis  was  quite  hopeless,  and  that 
her  next  letter  must  contain  the  news  of  his  death. 
What  was  our  surprise,  therefore,  when  the  next 
letter  was  from  Francis  himself  (who  had  never 
written  to  us  before),  not  merely  saying  that  he  was 
better,  but  that  he  was  going  to  be  married  immedi- 
ately to  a  person  with  whom  he  had  long  been 
acquainted.  At  the  time  of  this  marriage,  Esmeralda 
went  away  into  Sussex,  and  afterwards,  when  she 
returned  to  London,  she  never  consented  to  see  Mrs. 
Francis  Hare. 

My  sister's  cheque-books  of  the  last  year  of  her 


|-J1  TlIK   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [18G8 

life  show  thai  during  thai  year  alone  her  brother 
Francis  had  received  £900  from  her,  though  her 
income  al  the  mosl  did  qoI  exceed  £800.  He  IkhI 
also  persuaded  Esmeralda  to  take  a  house  called 
"Park  Lodge'  in  Paddington,  with  an  acre  and  a 
half  of  garden.  The  renl  was  certainly  low,  and  the 
arrangement,  as  intended  by  Ivsmeralda,  was  that  her 
brother  should  live  in  two  or  three  rooms  of  the 
house,  and  that  the'  re>i  should  be  let  furnished.  But 
tenants  never  came,  and  Francis  lived  in  the  whole 
of  the  house,  after  furnishing  it  expensively  and  send- 
ing in  the  bills  to  his  sister,  who  paid  them  in  her 
fear  lest  anxiety  about  money  matters  might  make 
him  ill  again. 

At  the  end  of  March  Esmeralda  received  a  letter 
from  Madame  de  Trafford,  of  which  she  spoke  to 
Mrs.  Dunlop.  She  said,  "  Madame  de  Trafford  has 
written  to  me  in  dreadful  distress.  She  says  she  sees 
i ne  in  a  very  dark,  narrow  place,  where  no  one  can 
ever  get  at  me,  and  where  no  one  will  ever  be  able  to 
speak  to  me  any  more."  Esmeralda  laughed  as  she 
told  this,  and  said  she  supposed  it  referred  to  the 
prison  to  which  Augustus  said  she  would  have  to  go 
for  her  extravagance;  but  it  was  the  grave  of  which 
Madame  de  Trafford  spoke. 

In  March.  Esmeralda  talked  to  many  of  her  friends 
of  her  plans  for  the  future.  She  said  that  in  conse- 
quence of  the  expense  of  keeping  up  the  house,  she 
should  be  obliged  to  part  with  Grosvenor  Street,  and 
that  she  should  go  abroad  —  to  Rome,  and  eventually 
to  Jerusalem.  She  did  more  than  merely  form  the 
plan    of    this    journey.      She   had    the   dresses   made 


1868]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  425 

which  she  intended  to  wear  in  the  East,  and  for  three 
nights  she  sat  np  arranging  all  her  papers,  and  tying 
up  the  letters  of  her  d liferent  friends  in  separate 
parcels,  so  that  they  might  more  easily  be  returned  to 
them.  To  Mary  Laffam,  her  then  maid,  who  assisted 
her  in  this,  she  said,  "  Mary,  I  am  going  on  a  very, 
very  long  journey,  from  which  I  may  never  return, 
and  I  wish  to  leave  everything  arranged  behind  me." 

In  the  beginning  of  May  Esmeralda  went  with  her 
aunt  to  spend  three  weeks  in  Sussex.  After  she  re- 
turned to  Grosvenor  Street,  she  was  very  ill  with  an 
attack  like  that  from  which  she  had  suffered  at  Dijon 
several  years  before.  Having  been  very  successfnlly 
treated  then  in  France,  she  persuaded  her  aunt  to  ob- 
tain the  direction  of  a  French  doctor.  The  remedy 
which  this  doctor  administered  greatly  increased  the 
malady.     This  was  on  Tuesday  19th. 

On  Thursday  21st  my  sister  was  so  much  weakened 
and  felt  so  ill,  that  she  dismissed  the  French  doctor, 
and  sent  again  for  her  old  doctor,  Squires,  who  came 
at  once.  He  was  much  shocked  at  the  change  in  her, 
and  thought  that  she  had  been  terribly  mistreated, 
but  he  was  so  far  from  being  alarmed,  that  he  saw  no 
reason  why  her  house  should  not  be  let,  as  arranged, 
on  the  following  Tuesday,  to  Mademoiselle  Nilsson, 
the  Swedish  songstress,  and  said  that  the  change 
would  do  her  good. 

About  this  time,  by  Esmeralda's  request,  my  aunt 
wrote  to  tell  Madame  de  Traiford  of  the  illness,  but  she 
did  not  then  express  any  alarm.  On  Saturday  the 
good  and  faithful  Mrs.  Thorpe x  saw  Esmeralda,  and 

1  The  maid  of  our  old  friend  Mrs.  Chambers  of  Hodsock  Priory. 


1:26  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

was  much  concerned  at  the  change  in  her.  She  re- 
mained  with  her  for  some  time,  and  bathed  her  face 
with  eau-de-Cologne.  Esmeralda  then  took  both 
Mrs.  Thorpe's  hands  in  hers,  and  said  do  one  could 
do  for  her  as  she  did.  Mrs.  Thorpe  was  so  much 
alarmed  at  Esmeralda's  manner,  which  seemed  like  a 
leave-taking,  that  she  went  down  to  our  Aunt  Eleanor 
and  tried  to  alarm  her;  hut  she  said  that  as  long  as 
the  house  could  be  Lei  On  Tuesday  to  Mademoiselle 
Nilsson,  the  doctor  must  be  perfectly  satisfied,  and 
there  could  not  possibly  he  anything  to  apprehend. 

Sunday  passed  without  any  change  except  that. 
both  then  and  on  Saturday,  whenever  her  brother 
Francis  was  mentioned,  Esmeralda  became  violently 
agitated,  screamed,  and  said  that  he  was  on  no  ac- 
count to  he  admitted. 

Father  Galway  was  away,  but  on  Monday  Esme- 
ralda sent  for  Father  Eccles,  and  from  him  she  received 
the  Last  Sacraments.  When  I  asked  my  aunt  after- 
wards if  this  did  not  alarm  her,  she  said,  "No,  it  did 
not.  because  Esmeralda  was  so  nervous  and  so  dread- 
fully afraid  of  dying  without  the  Last  Sacraments, 
that  whenever  she  felt  ill  she  always  received  them, 
and  the  doctor  still  assured  her  that  all  was  soma:  on 

Well." 

Thai  night  (Monday,  May  25),  a  Nun  of  the  Miseri- 
corde  sat  up  in  the  room.  Aunt  Eleanor  went  to  bed 
as  usual.  At  half-past  four  in  the  morning  she  was 
called.  The  most  mysterious  black  sickness  had 
come  on,  and  could  not  be  arrested.  Dr.  Squires, 
summoned  in  haste,  says  that  he  arrived  exactly  as  a 
clock  near  Grosvenor  Square  struck  five.     He  saw  at 


1868]  LAST  YEARS   OF  ESMERALDA  427 

once  that  the  case  was  quite  hopeless ;  still  for  three 
hours  he  struggled  to  arrest  the  malady.  At  the  end 
of  that  time,  Esmeralda  suddenly  said,  "  Dr.  Squires, 
this  is  very  terrible,  is  n't  it  ?  "  —  "  Yes,"  he  replied, 
throwing  as  much  meaning  as  possible  into  his  voice, 
"  it  is  indeed  most  terrible."  Upon  this  Esmeralda 
started  up  in  the  bed  and  said,  "  You  cannot  possibly 
mean  that  you  think  I  shall  not  recover?'3  Dr. 
Squires  said,  "  Yes,  I  am  afraid  it  is  my  duty  to  tell 
you  that  you  cannot  possibly  recover  now."  —  "  But 
I  do  not  feel  ill,"  exclaimed  Esmeralda;  "this  sick- 
ness is  very  terrible,  but  still  I  do  not  feel  ill."  —  "  I 
cannot  help  that,"  answered  Dr.  Squires,  "but  I  fear 
it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  it  is  quite  impossible 
you  can  live." 

"  It  was  then,"  said  her  doctor,  "  that  her  expres- 
sion lost  all  its  anxiety.  Death  had  no  terror  for  her. 
She  was  almost  radiant."  The  serenity  of  her  coun- 
tenance remained  unchanged,  and  to  her  last  moment 
she  was  as  one  preparing  for  a  festival. 

After  a  pause  she  said,  "  Tell  me  how  long  you 
think  it  possible  that  I  should  live."  Dr.  Squires 
said,  "  You  might  live  two  days,  but  it  is  quite  im- 
possible that  you  should  live  longer  than  that."  She 
at  once  asked  for  writing  materials,  and  with  a  firm 
hand,  as  if  she  were  well,  she  wrote  a  telegraphic 
despatch  bidding  Madame  de  Trafford  to  come  to  her 
at  once.  (The  office  was  "then  closed,  and  when  it 
was  opened,  it  was  already  too  late  to  send  the 
despatch.)  Then  Dr.  Squires  kindly  and  wisely  said, 
"  I  fear  you  have  little  time  to  lose,  and  if  you  wish 
to  make  any  changes  in   your  will,  you  had  better 


J    ^K 


128  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [18G8 

make  them  at  once"  My  sister  answered,  "Oh,  I 
must  alter  everything.  1  never  thought  it  possible 
thai  I  should  die  before  my  aunt,  and  I  wish  to  leave 
things  so  t  ii.it  m\  death  will  make  no  difference  to 
her."  The  doctor,  seeing  a  great  change  coming  on, 
was  afraid  to  leave  the  room  even  to  get  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  he  wrote  upon  a  scrap  of  paper  which  he 
picked  up  from  the  floor.  My  sister  then  made  a 
very  simple  will,  leaving  everything  to  her  (Prot- 
estant) aunt,  Miss  Paul,  except  her  interest  in  Park 
Lodge  and  a  chest  of  plate,  which  she  left  to  Francis, 
and  her  claims  to  a  portrait  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,1 
which  she  left  to  me. 

When  Esmeralda  had  dictated  the  page  containing 
these  bequests,  her  doctor  wisely  made  her  sign  it  in 
the  presence  of  her  servants  before  she  proceeded  to 
dictate  anything  else.  Thus  the  firsl  portion  of  her 
will  is  valid;  but  before  she  had  come  to  the  end  of 
another  page  containing  small  legacies  to  the  Ser- 
vites,  to  the  Nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood,  &c,  the 
power  of  signature  had  failed,  and  it  was  therefore 
valueless. 

Esmeralda  then  said  almost  playfully,  "You  had 
better  send  for  the  Nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood,  for 
they  would  never  forgive  me,  even  after  all  is  over, 
if  they  had  not  been  sent  for,"  and  a  maid  went  off 
in  a  cab  to  fetch  the  Abbess  Pierina.  It  was  then 
that  a  priest  arrived  from  Farm  Street  to  admin- 
ister extreme  unction,  and   Dr.  Squires,  seeing  that 

1  She  showed  her  clearness  of  mind  by  mentioning  this  picture, 
which  she  had  not  seen  for  years;  but  much  trouble  afterwards 
resulted  from  this  clause  in  her  will. 


1868]  LAST   YEARS   OF    ESMERALDA  429 

he  could  do  nothing  more,  and  that  my  sister  was 
already  past  observing  who  was  present,  went  away. 

The  Abbess  Pierina  says  that  she  arrived  at  the 
house  about  nine  o'clock,  and  saw  at  once  that  Esme- 
ralda was  dying.  A  priest  was  praying  by  the  bed- 
side. She  remained  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
for  about  ten  minutes,  then  she  went  up  to  Esme- 
ralda, who  said,  "  I  am  dying."  A  few  minutes 
afterwards,  in  a  loud  and  clear  voice,  she  called 
"  Auntie,"  and  instantly  fell  back  and  died. 

Thus  the  day  which  she  looked  for  as  her  Sabbath 
and  high  day  came  to  her,  and  she  passed  to  the  rest 
beyond  the  storm  —  beyond  the  bounds  of  doubt  or 
controversy  —  to  the  company  of  those  she  justly 
honoured,  and  of  some  whom  she  never  learnt  to 
honour  here,  in  the  many  mansions  of  an  all-rec- 
onciling world.  Let  us  not  look  for  the  living 
amongst  the  dead.  She  exchanged  her  imperfect 
communion  with  God  here  for  its  full  fruition  in  the 
peace  of  that  Sabbath  which  knows  no  evening. 

During  the  whole  of  the  last  terrible  hours  our 
poor  deaf  aunt  was  in  the  room,  but  she  had  sunk 
down  in  her  terror  and  anguish  upon  the  chair  which 
was  nearest  the  door  as  she  came  in,  and  thence  she 
never  moved.  She  never  had  strength  or  courage  to 
approach  the  bed :  she  saw  all  that  passed,  but  she 
heard  nothing. 

Soon  after  all  was  over,  the  Abbess  Pierina  came 
down  to  my  aunt,  and  revealed — what  none  of  her 
family  had  known  before  —  that  Esmeralda  had  long 
been  an  Oblate  Sister  of  the  Precious  Blood,  and  she 


430  THE   STORY   OF  MY    LIFE  [18G8 


begged  leave  to  dress  her  in  the  habit  of  the  Order. 
All  ilit-  furniture  of  the  room  was  cleared  away  or 
draped  with  white,  and  the  bed  was  left  standing 
alone,  surrounded  uight  and  day  by  tall  candles 
burning  in  silver  sconces,  with  a  statue  of  "Our 
Lnix  of  Sorrows"  at  the  head,  and  at  the  foot  the 
grea1  crucifix  from  the  oratory.  Esmeralda  was 
clothed  in  a  long  black  dress,  which  she  had  ordered 
for  her  journey  to  Jerusalem,  but  had  never  worn, 
and  round  her  waist  was  the  scarlet  girdle  of  the 
Precious  Blood.  On  her  head  was  a  white  crape 
cap  and  a  white  wreath,  as  for  a  novice  nun. 

As  soon  as  Aunt  Eleanor  was  able  to  think,  she 
•sent  for  her  sister,  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  who  arrived  at 
II  a.m.  She,  as  a  strong  Protestant,  said  that  she 
could  never  describe  how  terrible  the  next  three  days 
were  to  her.  All  day  long  a  string  of  carriages  was 
ceaselessly  pouring  up  the  street,  and  a  concourse  of 
people  through  the  house,  Nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood 
being  posted  on  the  different  landings  to  show  them 
where  to  go.  Each  post  brought  letters  from  all 
kinds  of  people  they  had  never  heard  of  before, 
asking  to  have  anything  as  a  memorial,  even  a  piece 
of  old  newspaper  which  Esmeralda  had  touched. 

On  the  day  after  we  arrived  at  Holmhurst  from 
Germany  (Sunday  31st),  I  went  up  to  try  to  comfort 
my  broken-hearted  aunt  at  the  house  in  Grosvenor 
Street.  The  rooms  in  which  I  had  last  seen  Esme- 
ralda looked  all  the  more  intensely  desolate  from 
being  just  finished,  new  carpets  and  chintzes  every- 
where, only  the  last  pane  of  the  fernery  in  the  back 
drawing-room    not  yet   put    in.     My    aunt  came  in 


186S]  LAST  YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  431 

trembling  all  over.  It  was  long  before  she  was  able 
to  speak :  then  she  wrung  her  hands.  "  Oh,  it  was 
so  sudden  —  it  was  so  sudden,"  she  said;  and  then 
she  became  more  collected,  and  talked  for  hours  of 
all  that  had  passed.  Those  present  said  that  for  the 
whole  of  the  first  day  she  sat  in  a  stupor,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  never  spoke  or  moved,  or 
seemed  to  notice  any  one  who  went  in  or  out. 

The  coffin  was  already  closed,  and  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  covered  with  a  white  pall,  and 
surrounded  by  burning  candles  and  vases  of  flowers. 
Upon  the  coffin  lay  the  crucifix  which  both  Italima 
and  Esmeralda  held  in  their  hands  when  they  were 
dying.  Near  it  was  the  bed,  with  the  mark  where 
the  head  had  lain  still  unremoved  from  the  pillow. 

On  Monday  afternoon  there  was  a  long  wearying 
family  discussion  as  to  whether  the  remains  were 
to  be  taken  to  Kensal  Green  in  the  evening,  to 
remain  throughout  the  night  in  the  cemetery  chapel. 
Francis  insisted  that  it  should  be  so.  Our  Aunt 
Fitz-Gerald  declared  that  if  it  was  done  she  would 
not  go  to  the  funeral,  as  she  would  not  follow 
nothing.  I  agreed  with  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  and  the 
Nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood  were  most  vehement  that 
the  body  should  not  be  removed.  Eventually,  how- 
ever, Francis  carried  his  point.  At  9  p.  m.  we  all 
went  up  for  the  last  time  to  the  room,  still  draped 
like  a  chapel,  where  the  coffin  lay,  covered  with 
fresh  flowers,  with  the  great  crucifix  still  standing 
at  the  foot  between  the  lighted  candles.  Then  what 
remained  of  Esmeralda  was  taken  away. 

The  next  day  (June  2)  was  the  funeral.     At  the 


432 


THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE 


[1808 


cemetery  the  relations  who  came  from  the  house 
were  joined  by  Mr.  Monteith,  Lady  Lothian,  Lady 
Londonderry,  Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton,  the  Abbess 
Pierina,  and  all  the  Nuns  of  the  Precious  Blood,  with 
several  Nuns.it'  the  Mis6ricorde. 


ESMERALDA  -    GRAVE. 


The  chapel  was  full  of  people,  but  it  is  very  small, 
and  a  very  small  part  of  it  is  used  for  seats.  The 
larger  part  was  spread  with  a  rich  crimson  carpet, 
in  the  midst  of  which  rose  a  kind  of  catafalque, 
upon  which  lav  the  coffin,  covered  with  a  long  purple 
velvel  pall,  embroidered  in  golden  letters  —  "May 
all    the  holy  saints   and    angels    receive    her    soul." 


1868]  LAST   YEARS   OF   ESMERALDA  43 


Q 


Round  this  were  six  candles  burning  in  very  tall 
brass  candlesticks.  After  the  priest  had  gone  round 
with  the  holy  water  and  incense,  a  door  at  the  east 
end  of  the  church  was  thrown  open  and  the  pall 
removed,  when  the  light  poured  in  upon  the  coffin 
and  its  silver  ornaments  and  the  large  silver  cross 
lying  upon  it.  Then  we  all  passed  out  round  the 
shrubberies  to  the  grave,  where  the  vault  was  opened 
just  behind  the  beautiful  seated  statue  of  "  Our  Lady 
of  Sorrows  "  under  the  cross,  which  Esmeralda  had 
herself  erected.     Upon  the  coffin  was  engraved  — 

"  Anne  Frances  Maria  Louisa  Hare, 

E.  de  M. 
(Enfant  de  Marie), 

Oblate  of  the  Order  of  the  Precious  Blood. 

Born  October  9,  1832. 

Died  May  26,  1868." 

As  the  priest  said  all  the  leading  sentences,  the 
nuns,  with  clear  voice,  sang  the  responses.  The 
whole  service  occupied  nearly  an  hour  and  a  half. 
We  drove  home  in  total  silence:  Aunt  Fitz-Gerald 
led  Auntie  into  the  desolate  house. 

Thus  was  my  sweet  sister  Esmeralda  taken  from 
us  —  being  removed  from  the  evil  to  come. 

"  Souls  of  the  Holy  Dead ! 
Though  fancy  whispers  thus  to  musing  hearts, 
We  would  not  call  ye  back,  whence  ye  are  fled, 

To  take  your  parts 
In  the  old  battle-strife  ;  or  break 

With  our  heartache  — 
The  rest  which  ye  have  won  and  in  Christ's  presence  take." 

vol.  ii.  —  28 


XIV 
THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC    CONSPIRACY 

••  Glory  to  Thee  in  Thine  Omnipotence, 
Who  dosl  dispense. 
As  seemeth  best  to  Thine  unerring  will 
The  lol  of  victory  still ; 

Edging  sometimes  with  might  the  sword  unjust, 
And  bow  Lng  to  the  dust 
The  rightful  cause,  that  so  much  seeming  ill 
May  Thine  appointed  purposes  fulfil." 

—  Southet. 

"Sprechen  ist  silbern,  Schweigen  ist  golden." 

—  Swiss  Inscription. 

"  If  you  your  lips  would  keep  from  slips, 
Of  five  things  have  a  care  : 
To  whom  you  speak,  of  whom  you  speak, 
And  how,  and  when,  and  where." 

—  Old  Distich. 

At  eleven  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  my  sister's  death, 
our  aunt.  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  arrived  in  Grosvenor 
Street.     She  wrote  to  me  afterwards  :  — 

"  Winn  Eleanor  sent  for  me,  after  I  recovered  the  shock, 
I  went  immediately  to  Grosvenor  Street,  and  the  first  thing 
I  asked  before  going  up  to  Eleanor  was,  'Is  Mr.  Hare 
(Francis)  upstairs?'  The  maid  made  answer,  'Oh,  no; 
Miss  I  tare  would  not  hear  of  seeing  him,  and  forbade  us  to 
Lei  him  enter  the  house,  declaring  that  he  had  her  death 
to  answer  for.'     I  could  not  believe  this  statement,  and  I 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC    CONSPIRACY  435 

called  another  servant  into  the  dining-room,  who  repeated 
exactly  the  same  thing,  saying  also  that  things  had  taken 
place  in  that  house  which  were  fearful,  and  that  they  were 
afraid  of  their  lives.  /  was  the  innocent  cause  of  Francis 
coming  to  sleep  in  the  house,  as  I  did  not  think  it  was 
right  that  Eleanor  should  be  left  alone  with  the  dead  body 
of  your  sister.  I  did  not  know  till  the  following  morning, 
when  the  servants  told  me,  that  people  had  been  walking 
about  the  house  the  whole  night,  and  that  the  Rev.  Mother 
(Pierina)  had  forbid  them  to  leave  the  kitchen,  hear  what 
they  would."  x 

Upon  this,  and  all  succeeding  nights  until  the 
funeral,  the  three  maids  persistently  refused  at  night 
to  go  upstairs,  saying  that  they  had  seen  a  spirit 
there,  and  they  remained  all  through  the  night  hud- 
dled up  together  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen.  By  day 
even  they  manifested  the  greatest  terror,  especially 
Mary  Laffam,  the  lady's-maid,  who  started  and 
trembled  whenever  she  was  spoken  to,  and  who 
entreated  to  be  allowed  to  go  out  when  she  heard 
the  lawyer  was  coming,  "  for  fear  he  should  ask 
her  any  questions."  If  they  had  the  opportunity, 
they  always  made  mysterious  hints  of  poison,  and 
of  Esmeralda's  death  having  been  caused  by  un- 
natural  means.  To  the  Rev.  Mother  Pierina,  Mary 
Laffam  said  at  one  time  that  Miss  Hare  had  told 
her  she  knew  that  she  should  die  of  poison.2  All 
the  servants  constantly  repeated  to  the  Rev.  Mother 
their  conviction  that  Miss  Hare  was  poisoned.  They 
talked    a   great    deal,  especially  Mary  Laffam,   who 

1  Letter  of  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  which  would  have  been  used  at  Guild- 
ford had  the  trial  proceeded. 

2  Statement  of  Pierina  to  Miss  Stanley. 


436  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

horrified  the  Abbess  by  saying  that  Miss  Hare  had 
herself  said  in  her  last  moments,  "I  am  poisoned 
and  1  ili»'  of  poison."1  In  consequence  of  all  that 
the  servants  had  said  to  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald  of  their 
certain  conviction  thai  my  sister  had  been  poisoned, 
she  was  most  anxious,  before  my  return  to  England, 
for  a  post-mortem  examination,  but  Francis  violently 
opposed  this,  and  he  carried  his  point. 

The  opinion  that  my  sister's  death  was  caused  by 
poison  was  shared  by  many  of  those  who  came  to  see 
her  after  death.  They  could  not  but  recollect  that 
though  Dr.  Squires  then  said  he  believed  her  to  have 
died  of  ulceration  of  the  intestines,  up  to  the  day  be- 
fore the  death  he  had  said  that  she  might  be  removed, 
that  the  house  might  be  let,  and  had  suggested  no 
such  impression.  For  two  days  after  death,  black 
blood  continued  to  stream  from  the  mouth,  as  is  the 
case  from  slow  corrosive  poison,  and  three  eminent 
physicians,  on  hearing  of  the  previous  symptoms  and 
the  after  appearances  (Dr.  Hale,  Sir  Alexander  Taylor, 
and  Dr.  Winslow),  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that  those 
\\<re  the  usual  symptoms  and  appearances  induced  by 
corrosive  poison.  Mrs.  Baker  (  Marguerite  Pole)  wrote 
to  me  on  June  24 :  "  The  idea  of  poison  is  the  one  I 
formed  the  first  moment  I  saw  the  body,  as  for  some 
years  I  was  practically  versed  in  medicine,  and  I  was 
at  a  loss  how  to  account  for  various  appearances  in  a 
Datura!  way  —  ».e.,from  illness." 

When  I  arrived  at  the  house  on  May  31  (the  death 
having  taken  place  on  the  26th),  I  found  all  its  inmates 

1  Statement  made  by  Pierinato  Monsignor  Paterson,  and  repeated 
by  him  before  the  trial  to  Miss  Stanley  and  my  solicitor. 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC    CONSPIRACY  437 

agitated  by  the  various  reports  which  were  going  about. 
Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald  was  full  of  a  dreadful  message  which 
she  believed  to  have  been  given  by  my  dying  sister  to 
the  Abbess  Pierina.  "  When  I  am  dead,  go  to  my 
brother  Francis,  and  tell  him  that  he  was  the  cause  of 
my  death,  and  that  he  will  have  to  answer  for  it." 
This  message  was  also  repeated  to  me  by  Mrs.  Baker 
and  by  Mrs.  William  Hare,  and  was  always  spoken  of 
as  having  been  given  to  the  Rev.  Mother  herself.  On 
each  occasion  on  which  I  heard  it  spoken  of,  I  said 
that  the  message  had  much  better  not  be  given  to 
Francis,  as  he  was  in  such  a  weak  state  of  health  that 
it  might  do  him  serious  injury  ;  and  that  probably 
when  my  sister  gave  it,  she  was  in  a  state  of  semi- 
delirium,  brought  on  by  her  extreme  weakness.  I 
entirely  declined  to  question  the  servants,  consequently 
I  heard  nothing  directly  from  them,  only  their  Avords 
as  repeated  by  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  and  the  many  persons 
to  whom  the  Mother  Pierina  had  related  them. 

I  never  had  any  interview  with  or  heard  anything 
directly  from  Pierina  herself.  The  reason  of  this  was 
that,  three  days  after  the  death,  she  had  a  violent 
scene  with  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  who  had  intercepted  her 
in  the  act  of  carrying  off  two  large  heavy  silver  can- 
delabra from  the  oratory,  and  some  valuable  point- 
lace,  which  she  had  ripped  off  the  altar-cloth  and 
concealed  in  her  pocket.  She  also  took  away  a  quan- 
tity of  small  articles  (rosaries,  crucifixes,  &c),  which 
were  afterwards  returned  with  the  more  valuable 
articles  by  order  of  Monsignor  Paterson,  who  wrote 
to  express  his  extreme  grief  and  annoyance  at  her 
conduct.    My  own  impression  still  is  that  Pierina  was 


438  THE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1868 

a  simple  and  devoul  character,  who  would  nut  willingly 
do  anything  she  believed  to  be  wrong,  but  that  she  was 
realh  convinced  (as  she  said)  that  it  was  a  duty  to 
takeaway  these  things,  which  had  been  dedicated  to 
the  service  of  a  Roman  Catholic  altar,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent their  being  applied  to  secular  uses  in  a  Protestant 
household.  Alter  this,  however,  which  occurred  before 
my  arrival,  the  Abbess  Pierina  was  never  allowed  to 
return  to  the  house,  so  that  I  never  saw  her. 

[mmediately  after  the  death,  all  the  small  articles 
in  ni\  sister's  room  had  been  hastily  removed,  in  order 
that  the  room  might  be  draped  with  white,  and  to 
give  it  as  much  as  possible  the  appearance  of  a  chapel. 
On  the  day  before  the  funeral,  I  saw  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald, 
who  was  in  the  inner  drawing-room,  after  opening  a 
davenport  and  looking  into  a  blotting-book,  suddenly 
burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,"  she  said,  "  the  whole  mystery 
is  revealed  now;  it  is  all  quite  plain;  you  may  see 
what  it  was  that  killed  your  sister,"  and  she  held  up 
a  letter  from  Francis,  written  on  the  Friday  evening 
before  her  death  —  a  cruel  letter,  telling  her  in  the 
harshest  terms  that  she  was  totally  ruined,  that  she 
might  sell  her  house  and  her  plate,  and  all  else  that 
she  possessed,  for  she  had  nothing  whatever  left  to 
live  upon  :  but  that,  as  he  did  not  wish  her  to  starve, 
she  and  her  aunt  might  come  to  live  with  his  wife. 
This  letter  Esmeralda  must  have  received  on  Saturday 
morning,  soon  after  writing  the  affectionate  note  to 
Francis,  which  was  read  afterwards  at  Guildford  in 
proof  of  the  happy  terms  on  which  she  was  living 
with  him.  But  it  was  her  peculiar  habit,  when  she 
was  ill  or  suffering,  to  put  letters  aside,  whoever  they 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  439 

might  be  from,  and  not  to  read  them  till  she  felt 
better ;  it  is  therefore  quite  possible  that  she  did  not 
open  this  letter  till  Monday,  when  it  gave  the  fatal 
blow.  This  was  my  impression  at  the  time,  and  then 
and  always  afterwards,  when  others  spoke  of  poison, 
I  said,  "  There  were  strange  signs  of  poison,  and  many 
people  think  she  was  poisoned,  but  it  is  my  firm  con- 
viction that  she  did  not  die  of  poison,  but  of  a  broken 
heart  —  a  heart  broken  by  her  brother  Francis." 

On  the  6 th  of  June  I  spent  the  whole  morning  in 
the  office  of  my  sister's  solicitor  examining  accounts 
and  papers,  and  the  afternoon  at  Coutts'  Bank  to 
find  out  what  was  left.  The  result  of  the  investiga- 
tion was  to  show  that  in  October  my  sister  possessed 
£12,000  clear,  besides  a  great  quantity  of  plate, 
diamonds,  and  other  valuables,  and  the  house  in 
Grosvenor  Street  paid  for  and  clear  from  debt,  as 
well  as  the  property  in  the  Palazzo  Parisani  at  Rome. 
At  the  time  of  her  death  she  possessed,  interest  and 
principal  combined,  £216,  and  debts  to  a  consider- 
able amount,  while  the  diamonds  and  plate  seemed 
to  have  disappeared  without  leaving  a  trace  behind 
them. 

Several  days  afterwards,  while  I  was  taking  an 
envelope  out  of  the  envelope-box  on  the  table,  I  saw 
a  bit  of  bluish  paper  sticking  up  between  the  parti- 
tions of  the  box.  I  absently  poked  it  up  with  a 
paper-knife,  and  then  found  that  it  was  a  pawn- 
ticket from  Attenborough  for  £120  upon  diamonds. 
Turning  out  a  quantity  of  old  Times  from  a  cup- 
board, I  afterwards  found  there  a  pawn-ticket  for 
£100  upon  plate;   later  I  found  a  third   ticket  for 


440  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

682  upon  some  diamond  earrings.  Attenborough 
told  me  that  Francis  had  brought  his  sister  there 
at  differenl   times  and  placed  the  plate  and  diamonds 

in  pawn. 

Whilsl  I  was  still  in  Grosvenor  Street,  many  of 
my  sisters  Catholic  friends  came  to  see  me.  Mrs. 
Montgomery  came  three  times.  I  had  never  liked 
1„t.  and  had  greatly  deprecated  my  sister's  intimacy 
with  her,  but  in  the  presence  of  what  I  believed  to 
be  a  common  grief  I  could  not  refuse  to  receive  her, 
and  she  was  apparently  most  sympathising  and  even 
affectionate.  The  second  time  she  came  she  sat  by 
me  on  the  sola  and  spoke  of  Esmeralda's  death  as 
making  a  blank  in  her  whole  future  life.  She  said 
what  a  comfort  and  happiness  it  would  be  to  her 
if  she  were  ever  able  to  be  of  use  to  me  in  any 
way, —  in  any  way  to  supply  the  place  of  her  I  had 
lost.   .   .   .   Yet  ten  days  after! ! 

Mrs.  Dunlop  came  several  times.  On  June  8  she 
would  not  get  out  of  her  carriage,  but  begged  me  to 
come  down  to  her  and  speak  to  her  in  it.  She  then 
said,  "Now  I  know  yon  would  not  speak  of  these 
things  to  any  one  else,  but  you  know  yon  may  trust 
me:  now  do  tell  me,  was  it  not  most  extraordinary 
that  Francis  should,  in  spite  of  her  forbidding  him, 
force  his  way  into  his  sister's  house  just  upon  the 
one  day  on  which  he  knew  his  aunt  was  away? 
Now  of  course  you  would  not  speak  of  this  to  every 
one.  but  Esmeralda  loved  me  as  a  sister.  You  know 
you  may  fcrusl  me."  She  went  on  very  long  in  the 
same  strain.  At  last  1  was  so  shocked  that  I  got  up 
1  Mrs.  Alfred  Montgomery  died  at  Naples  in  January,  1893. 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  441 

and  said,  "  Mrs.  Dunlop,  I  see  what  you  wish  me  to 
say.  You  wish  me  to  say  that  I  think  my  brother 
poisoned  my  sister.  Recollect  that  /  do  not  think  so. 
I  distinctly  think  that  he  was  the  cause  of  her  death, 
but  I  think  that  she  died  of  a  broken  heart,"  and  so 
saying  I  left  her. 

In  the  face  of  this  Mrs.  Dunlop  afterwards  asserted 
that  I  had  told  her  that  Francis  poisoned  my  sister. 
In  fact,  I  shall  always  believe  that  the  whole  of  the 
poisoning  story,  as  it  appeared  at  the  trial  which 
ensued,  originated,  sprung  up,  and  fructified  with 
Mrs.  Dunlop,  the  most  unscrupulous  of  the  conspir- 
ators concerned.  "  Where  the  devil  cannot  go,  he 
sends  an  old  woman,"  is  an  old  German  proverb. 

On  June  9  I  received  a  letter  from  my  adopted 
mother's  niece,  Mary  Stanley,  saying  that  some 
friends  had  come  up  to  her  at  a  party,  and  spoken 
of  the  cruel  way  in  which  Mr.  (Francis)  Hare  had 
been  treated  by  his  Protestant  relations.  When  she 
asked  an  explanation,  they  said  that  Mrs.  Montgom- 
ery had  asserted  (it  was  at  Lord  Denbigh's)  that  the 
doors  of  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Street  were  forcibly 
closed  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Francis  Hare  during  Miss 
Hare's  illness,  and  that  she  was  influenced  in  her 
last  moments  to  cancel  a  will  in  which  she  had 
left  all  her  money  to  her  brother  Francis ;  also 
that  neither  Francis  nor  his  wife  were  then  allowed 
to  enter  the  house  or  to  see  their  aunt,  and  that 
they  had  nothing  to  live  upon,  owing  to  their  having 
been  disinherited  by  Miss  Hare,  who  supported  them 
during  her  life.     Mary  Stanley,  a  Roman  Catholic, 


1  t2  THE    STORY   OF    MY   LIFE  [1868 

shocked  at  such  falsehoods  promulgated  by  a  member 
of  her  own  creed,  and  seeing  the  discredit  it  Mas 
likely  to  bring  upon  her  party,  strongly  urged  my 
writing  to  Mrs.  Montgomery,  who  had  professed  such 
intimate  frendship  for  me,  stating  that  I  had  heard 
such  a  report  was  circulated,  though  not  by  whom, 
and  after  putting  her  in  possession  of  the  facts,  as 
niv  sister's  dearest  friend,  urging  her  to  contradict  it. 

Having  an  inward  distrust  of  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
and  a  shrinking  from  any  communication  with  her, 
I  did  not  then  write  as  Mary  Stanley  wished. 

On  June  11  Mary  Stanley  came  down  to  Holm- 
hurst,  and  again  vehemently  urged  my  writing  to 
Mrs.  Montgomery  in  defence  of  Miss  Paid.  On  June 
12  I  yielded  to  her  repeated  solicitations,  and  wrote 
—  Mary  Stanley  and  my  adopted  mother  looking 
over  the  letter  and  approving  it  sentence  by  sentence. 
When  it  was  finished,  Mary  Stanley  said,  "That 
letter  is  perfect:  yon  must  not  alter  a  word:  it 
could  not  he  better."     The  letter  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  ITolmhurst,  June  13,  18G8.  Dear  Mrs.  Montgomery,  I 
have  heard  on  good  authority  that  a  report  has  been  circu- 
Lated  in  London  to  the  effect  that  the  doors  were  perfectly 
closed  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Francis  Hare  during  Miss 
Hare's  illness,  and  that  she  w;is  influenced  in  her  last 
moments  t<>  cancel  a  will  in  which  she  had  left  all  her 
money  to  her  brother  Francis;  also  that  neither  Francis 
nor  his  wife  are  now  allowed  t<>  enter  the  house  or  to  see 
their  aunt,  and  that  they  have  nothing  to  live  upon,  owing 
to  their  being  disinherited  by  Miss  Hare,  who  supported 
them  dining  her  life. 

'"As  it  is  a  pity  that  this  impression  sh  rail  d  he  allowed 
to  gain  ground,  and  as  you  were  latterly  the  most  intimate 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC    CONSPIRACY  443 

friend  my  dearest  sister  possessed,  I  venture  to  put  you  in 
possession  of  the  facts. 

"1.  In  her  previous  will  my  sister  had  not  even  men- 
tioned Francis'  name.  She  had  left  .£4000  to  me,  a 
very  large  legacy  to  Lady  G.  Fullerton,  legacies  to  other 
friends,  and  the  remainder  to  her  aunt.  Francis  was  not 
even  alluded  to. 

"  2.  Francis  was  not  allowed  to  see  my  sister  during  the 
last  days  of  her  life  at  her  own  especial  request:  the  very 
mention  of  his  name  made  her  scream  with  horror.  In  her 
last  moments  she  left  a  solemn  message  with  the  Superior 
of  the  Precious  Blood,  to  be  given  him  after  her  death. 
This  message  was  of  so  terrible  a  kind  that,  owing  to 
Francis'  critical  state  of  health  and  the  uncertainty  of  his 
life,  he  has  hitherto  been  spared  the  pain  of  hearing  it. 

"3.  Francis  and  his  wife  are  not  allowed,  by  the  lawyer's 
direction,  to  see  my  aunt  until  the  whole  terrible  story  of 
my  sister's  sudden  death  is  cleared  up.  In  the  month  of 
November,  besides  Grosvenor  Street,  bought  and  paid  for, 
she  possessed  £12,000  in  money;  when  she  died  she  was 
absolutely  penniless,  except  £216,  interest  and  principal 
combined,  and  she  was  overwhelmed  with  debts.  There  is 
no  trace  of  any  part  of  her  fortune  except  of  £2000  which 
was  lost  on  the  Stock  Exchange  through  brokers  to  whom 
Francis  introduced  her. 

"4.  My  dear  sister's  accounts  at  Coutts'  show  only 
too  clearly  that  Francis  had  the  greater  part  of  her  income. 
He  will  henceforward  receive  nothing  from  his  aunt,  who 
is  totally  ruined,  and  will  scarcely  have  enough  left  to  buy 
daily  bread,  as  £2400  of  her  own  little  fortune  is  gone, 
owing  to  signatures  which  Francis  persuaded  her  to  give. 

"'  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  my  troubling  you  thus  far 
with  our  family  affairs,  but  I  am  certain  that  many,  know- 
ing your  intimacy  with  my  sister,  may  ask  you  for  infor- 
mation, and  I  wish  you  to  lie  in  a  position  to  give  it. 
Believe  me  yours  very  truly, 

"Augustus  J.   C.  Hare." 


1  I  1  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

In  writing  this  letter,  T  had  no  idea  of  the  signifi- 
cance which  it  might  be  made  possible  to  attribute  to 
the  sentence  No.  3,  —  "until  the  whole  story  of  my 
sister's  sudden  death  is  cleared  up."  My  own  mind 
dwell  entirely  and  fixedly  upon  the  impression  that 
my  sister's  terribly  sudden  death  was  caused  by  the 
cruel  shock  of  Francis'  ungrateful  letter  coming  to 
her  in  her  weak  state.  To  have  it  cleared  up  would 
be  in  my  mind  to  have  it  clearly  ascertained  that  she 
was  poisoned,  as  most  people  believed,  because  in 
that  case  it  would  be  certain  that  Francis  might  be 
held  guiltless  of  her  death,  since  —  putting  other 
reasons  aside  —  he  had  never  once  been  allowed  to 
<nter  the  house  during  the  last  days  of  the  illness, 
and  therefore  could  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

The  statements  about  the  money  were  perfectly 
correct;  my  sister's  solicitor  vouched  for  them.  I 
believed  all  the  other  statements  to  be  correct  also, 
for  I  wrote  them,  not  upon  what  I  had  heard  from 
one  person,  but  from  what  I  had  heard  repeatedly 
and  from  many.  I  did  not  know  till  long  afterwards 
that  "the  message"  was  not  given  hj  my  sister  her- 
self to  the  Superior  of  the  Precious  Blood,  but  that 
the  Superior  had  received  it  through  the  servants. 
It  will  be  borne  in  mind  that  I  had  never  myself  seen 
the  Superior,  except  in  the  group  of  mourners  round 
the  grave. 

It  was  not  till  after  I  had  written  the  letter  to 
Mrs.  Montgomery  that  1  was  able  to  read  all  the 
details  of  my  sister's  former  will,  annulled  upon  her 
death-bed.  All  that  I  had  said  and  more  than  that 
was  true.     The  will  was  of  great  length  and  detail, 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  445 

but  Francis  was  not  even  alluded  to.  It  began  by 
leaving  £4000,  the  family  diamonds,  miniatures,  and 
plate,  with  various  other  valuables,  to  me,  but  it  also 
left  me  residuary  legatee.  There  was  a  legacy  of 
£4000  to  Lady  Georgiana  Fullerton,  or,  if  she  were 
dead,  to  her  husband,  Alexander  Fullerton;  £200 
to  Lady  Lothian;  £200  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Theodore 
Galton ;  £200  to  Father  Galwav  —  in  all  about 
£5000  to  Roman  Catholics.  Besides  these,  there 
were  considerable  legacies  to  Victoire,  to  Flora 
Limosin  and  her  daughter,  to  Clemence  Boissy,1  and 
£200  annuity  to  her  aunt.  There  were  small  lega- 
cies to  various  nuns  —  Serafina  della  Croce,  Pierina 
of  the  Precious  Blood,  the  "  Saint  of  St.  Peter's,"  &c. 
From  the  virulence  and  avarice  afterwards  dis- 
played by  the  Roman  Catholics,  and  by  the  fact  of 
their  bringing  an  action  to  get  the  exact  sum,  £5000, 
we  could  only  conclude  that  they  had  discovered  that 
my  sister  had  originally  left  them  that  sum  and  that 
they  determined  to  extort  it  from  the  Protestant  part 
of  the  family,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  really 
left  nothing,  so  that  even  the  last  will  was  valueless, 
and  that,  if  it  had  not  been  so,  I  should  have  been 
the  chief  sufferer,  having  been  residuary  legatee  under 
the  old  will.2 


•  It  was  touching  to  us,  and  like  Esmeralda's  forethought,  to  find  a 
clause  in  the  will  stating  that  in  case  of  her  former  maid,  Clemence, 
dying  first,  the  annuity  should  be  continued  to  her  crippled  helpless 
mother-in-law  (whom  Esmeralda  had  never  seen),  in  order  that 
Clemence  might  die  without  any  burden  on  her  mind. 

2  Every  precaution  had  been  taken  by  Esmeralda  to  prevent  her 
fortune  from  falling  to  her  brother  Francis.  In  case  of  my  dying  un- 
married, everything  was  to  go  to  her  cousin  Charles  Williamson; 


lie,  tiii:  stoky  of  my  life  [isgs 

In  less  than  a  week  from  the  time  of  my  sending 
the  letter  to  Mrs.  Montgomery,  I  received  one  from  a 
lawyer,  who  had  Ion--  been  mixed  up  with  Francis' 
affairs,  stating  that  unless  I  at  once  withdrew  and 
apologised  for  every  part  of  that  letter,  an  action 
f(ir  libel  would  he  brought  against  me.  Knowing 
that  Francis  was  utterly  insolvent,  my  family  and  I 
treated  this  as  an  idle  threat,  and  declining  any  cor- 
respondence  with  the  person  in  question,  referred  him 
to  my  solicitor.  Mrs.  Montgomery  and  Mrs.  Dunlop 
had  persuaded  Francis  to  these  proceedings,  and  Mrs. 
Montgomery  had  at  once  begun  to  stir  up  strife  by 
taking  the  letter  to  him. 

On  hearing  what  had  happened,  Mary  Stanley 
wrote :  — 

"July  10,  0  .\.  m.  You  may  imagine  that  my  indigna- 
tion is  boundless,  lean  scarcely  believe  it.  There  must 
be  some  mistake,  because  there  is  no  sense  in  it.  You 
were  not  in  England  when  the  will  was  made:  it  is  Miss 
Paul,  if  any  one,  from  whom  they  ought  to  extort  money, 
if  they  wish  it. 

"  2  P.  m.  All  morning  T  have  been  out  in  your  service. 
I  went  first  to  Farm  Street,  to  see  if  I  could  see  any  of 
the  priests  who  knew  anything  of  the  matter,  but  only  two 
were  in,  who  knew  nothing.  Then  I  went  to  Lady  G. 
Fullerton,  she  was  out;  to  Lady  Lothian,  she  was  out; 
then  to  find  out  Monsignor  Paterson's  direction,  and 
happily  I  found  it  and  him.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard 
all  lie  said.  The  moment  I  mentioned  the  name  principally 
concerned  he  stopped  me  —  '  Yon  need  say  no  more;  I  can 
believe  anything  of  that  person.'    Notliimj  could  be  stronger 

ami  in  case  of   his   death  without  children,  to  his   brother   Victor 
Williamson. 


1S6S]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  447 

than  his  words  about  her.  .  .  .  He  was  just  as  indignant 
at  the  whole  transaction  as  you  and  I  are.  He  said 
Francis,  finding  all  else  fail,  was  now  trading  on  his  faith. 
The  Abbess  Pierina  had  told  him  all  that  your  sister  said 
on  her  death-bed,  and  Monsignor  Paterson  desired  me  to 
say  that  you  had  only  to  command  his  services,  and  he 
would  keep  her  to  her  words." 

Meanwhile  the  action  for  libel  was  declared,  an 
action  which  openly  avowed  its  object,  to  extort 
,£5000.  Meanwhile,  also,  it  was  found  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Monteith  of  Carstairs  had  joined  the  conspira- 
tors, and  were  hand  in  hand  with  Mrs.  Dunlop  and 
Mrs.  Montgomery.  Soon  after  I  reached  home,  Mrs. 
Monteith  had  written  to  me,  expressing  her  great 
devotion  to  my  sister's  memory,  and  begging  me  to 
send  all  the  sad  details  connected  with  her  death.  I 
answered  to  the  effect  that  those  who  were  present 
could  better  tell  the  story  of  my  sister's  death.  Had 
I  written  to  Mrs.  Monteith,  doubtless  my  letter  to 
her  would  have  been  used  in  the  action,  instead  of 
that  which  I  wrote,  when  I  fell  into  the  more  skilful 
trap  laid  by  Mrs.  Montgomery.  The  Monteiths 
before  this  were  intimate  friends  of  mine.  I  had 
spent  a  week  at  Carstairs  in  the  preceding  October. 
With  Francis  they  wTere  previously  unacquainted. 
Therefore  it  could  have  been  only  the  interests  of 
their  Church  which  incited  them  to  the  course  they 
pursued. 

On  the  18th  of  July  Mary  Stanley  wrote :  — 

"At  last  I  have  got  into  the  enemy's  camp.  I  found 
Mrs.    Dunlop  this  morning,    and  for  an  hour  heard  her 


IIS  THE   STORY  OF   MY  LIFE  [1868 

version,  and  was  aghast  at  the  violence  with  which  she 
spoke.  I  am  very  glad  I  have  seen  her,  because  it  gives 
me  a  fresh  insight  into  the  state  of  things.  She  said 
Francis  himself  was  absolutely  passive,  and  allowed  his 
friends  to  act  fox  him;  that  he  was  now  living  on 
charity,  and  of  course  his  friends  must  defray  the  cost 
of  prosecution. 

"She  also  said  that  Mrs.  Montgomery's  letter  was  used 
for  the  prosecution  only  because  it  happened  to  be  more 
convenient  than  Mrs.  Dunlop's  evidence.  They  were 
resolved  to  prosecute  you. 

"  I  was  so  afraid  of  doing  mischief,  I  scarcely  knew  what 
to  say.  but  the  general  point  I  urged  was  that  I  had  heard 
from  a  Catholic  priest  to  whom  I  had  spoken  on  the  sub- 
ject that  the  accusation  of  poison  originated  with  the 
Abbess,  ivho  had  told  my  informant  that  Miss  Hare  had 
said  so  to  her  !  —and  that  my  informant  was  ready  to  hold 
her  to  these  words." 

I  do  not  think  that  any  words  could  describe  my 
misery  at  this  time  — "  battered  and  fretted  into 
great  sorrow  of  heart,"  as  Carlyle  would  say.  It  was 
naturally  of  far  more  consequence  to  me  than  to  any 
one  else  to  screen  the  miserable  Francis,  wdiom  I  alone 
had  cared  for  and  helped  during  the  long  years  of  his 
prison  life,  and  who  was  now  —  as  a  last  resource  — 
consenting  to  extort  what  was  equivalent  to  hush- 
money  from  me  —  either  hush-money  to  save  the 
family  from  the  exposure  of  his  own  past  life,  or  a 
provision  for  life  from  the  Roman  Catholic  conspira- 
tors, if  they  were  successful  in  the  scheme  to  which 
ho  lent  himself.  Yet  I  possessed  nothing,  and  even 
if  I  could  have  brought  myself  to  let  the  Roman 
Catholics  so  far  triumph,  I  could  not  have  allowed 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  449 

my  adopted  mother  to  impoverish  herself  by  the  pur- 
chase of  their  silence.  And  all  the  time  there  was 
the  unutterable  weariness  of  contradicting  all  the 
false  reports,  of  making  over  and  over  again  the 
statement  that  if  my  sister  were  poisoned,  then 
Francis,  who  had  never  seen  her  during  her  illness, 
was  innocent  of  her  death,  but  that  if  she  were  not 
poisoned,  then  the  moral  cause  of  it  must  be  attrib- 
uted to  him ;  and  mingled  through  the  whole  were 
silent  bursts  of  indignant  misery  over  the  cruel  suf- 
ferings which  Esmeralda  had  undergone,  and  the 
calumnious  falsehood  of  her  friends,  with  anguish 
over  her  so  recent  death. 

When  it  became  quite  evident  that  the  only  real 
object  of  the  conspiracy  was  to  extort  money  from 
me,  because  I  was  supposed  to  be,  as  Mrs.  Dunlop 
expressed  it,  "  the  richest  of  the  family,"  I  did  all  I 
could  to  save  family  scandal  by  offering  to  withdraw 
the  letter  to  Mrs.  Montgomery  altogether.  My  solic- 
itor made  every  possible  offer  on  my  part,  but  was 
always  answered  that  they  must  have  "  pecuniary 
compensation,"  —  in  fact,  it  was  always  made  a  ques- 
tion of  buying  back  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Montgomery. 
The  conspirators,  as  Mrs.  Dunlop  said,  were  "  resolved 
to  prosecute,"  and  wished  to  use  the  letter  to  Mrs. 
Montgomery  because  "  it  was  more  convenient  to  use 
than  anything  else."  They  would  listen  to  nothing, 
consider  nothing.  Is  it  not  Whyte  Melville  who 
says,  "  I  never  knew  but  one  woman  who  could 
understand  reason,  and  she  wouldn't  listen  to  it?" 

When  we  knew  that  the  trial  was  inevitable,  we 

vol.  ii.  —  29 


|:,|)  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  |W68 

did  what  we  could  to  prepare  for  it.  I  was  strongly 
advised  to  put  the  case  entirely  into  the  hands  of 
my  sister's  solicitor,  who  was  already  acquainted 
with  all  the  dark  page  of  Francis'  past  life,  rather 
than  to  give  it  to  my  adopted  mother's  respectable, 
old-fashioned  solicitor,  who  was  totally  unacquainted 
with  it.  I  afterwards  regretted  this  course,  as  the 
one  remark  made  by  the  latter,  "that  the  Abbess 
should  now  be  allowed  to  deliver  her  message/' 
showed  greater  perspicuity  than  anything  which  was 
done  by  the  former.  He,  on  the  contrary,  insisted 
that  there  should  be  no  communication  at  all  with 
Pierina  till  just  before  the  trial,  and  begged  thai  I 
would  not  see  her  at  all;  he  also  allowed  himself 
entirely  to  lose  sight  of  the  servants,  in  spite  of  my 
repeated  entreaties.  His  plan  seems  to  have  consisted 
in  ferreting  out  all  the  proofs  of  what  Francis'  con- 
duct had  been  for  many  years  past,  and  of  the  way 
in  which  he  preyed  upon  his  sister  during  the  last 
year  of  his  life,  as  shown  by  his  own  letters  and  my 
sister's  accounts,  which    were    in   our  hands. 

In  the  "declaration  of  the  action  for  libel  "  it  was 
set  forth  as  the  necessary  "  injury  "  that  it  had  caused 
Francis  to  he  avoided  by  all  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. Upon  this  we  sued  for  particulars.  Francis 
returned  a  list  of  the  persons  whom  he  declared  to 
have  been  led  to  avoid  him,  —  " Mrs.  Montgomery, 
Mrs.  Dunlop.  Mr.  Monteith.  Mrs.  Monteith,  Mar- 
chioness of  Lothian,  and  Miss  Bowles,"  —  a  list  which 
included  the  very  persons  (several  of  whom  he  had 
qoI  known  before)  who  were  at  that  time  in  constant 
communication  with  him,  and  were  bringing  on  and 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  451 

subscribing  for  the  action,  which  was  nominally  on 
his  behalf.  On  Tuesday,  July  28,  the  Roman  Catholic 
lawyer  asked  permission  to  fix  the  day  for  the  trial. 
This  courtesy  was  not  refused.  He  fixed  the  day 
instantly  and  summoned  his  witnesses,  but  he  did 
not  let  us  know  till  Saturday,  August  1,  that  the 
trial  was  to  be  on  Monday,  August  3,  when,  owing 
to  the  want  of  a  London  post  on  Sunday,  it  was  most 
difficult,  almost  impossible,  to  summon  the  witnesses 
on  our  side. 

On  Friday,  July  31,  my  acting  solicitor  went  to 
Monsignor  Paterson  and  took  down  his  deposition  as 
to  Pierina's  account  to  him  of  the  death-bed.  Mon- 
signor Paterson  then  deposed  that  "the  message"  had 
been  given  by  my  sister  in  the  form  already  described, 
and  that  my  sister  had  also  said  she  was  "  poisoned, 
and  knew  that  she  died  of  poison."  Upon  receiving 
this  evidence,  my  solicitor  naturally  felt  sure  of  his 
cause.  He  then  went  to  see  the  Abbess  Pierina  in 
Mecklenburgh  Square,  when,  to  his  utter  amazement, 
she  totally  denied  ever  having  received  the  message ; 
but  (being  terrified  by  threats  as  to  the  "  legal  con- 
sequences "  which  might  accrue  to  her)  she  did  not 
then  say  that  the  message  had  been  given  to  the 
servants  and  by  them  delivered  to  her  to  give  to 
Francis. 

On  Saturday  afternoon,  August  1,  Monsignor  Pat- 
erson again  saw  Pierina,  and,  to  his  amazement,  was 
informed  that  the  message  which  he  had  so  positively 
declared  to  have  been  given  to  the  Abbess  was  not 
what  Miss  Hare  said  to  her,  but  what  Miss  Hare  had 
said    to  the  maids,  who  had   told   her.      Monsignor 


|.VJ  THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE  [18G8 

rater-' mi  wrote  this  immediately  to  my  solicitor,  who 
(owing  to  the  want  of  London  post  on  Sunday)  only 
received  it   in  court. 

On  Saturday,  Augusl  L,  the  announcement  came 
that  the  trial  would  take  place  at  Guildford  on  Mon- 
day the  3rd.  On  Monday  morning  Mary  Stanley  and 
1  drove  early  to  the  Waterloo  station  to  go  down  to 
Guildford.  There  were  so  many  passengers  for  the 
trial  that  a  special  train  was  put  on.  At  the  station 
I  was  close  t.>  Mr.  Monteith,  who  had  come  from 
Scotland  to  represent  his  wife,  and  young  Gerard, 
win i  was  to  open  the  prosecution,  but  there  wTas  no 
speech  between  us.  Sir  Alexander  Taylor  went  down 
with  us.  and  at  Guildford  we  were  joined  by  many 
other  friends. 

The  heat  of  that  day  was  awful,  a  broiling  sun 
and  not  a  breath  of  air.  We  had  a  little  room  to 
meet  in  at  the  hotel.  Almost  immediately  I  was 
hurried  by  my  solicitor  to  the  room  where  our  senior 
counsel,  the  great  Hawkins,  was  breakfasting  at  the 
end  of  a  long  table,  lie  complained  of  the  immense 
mass  of  evidence  he  had  had  to  go  through.  He  said  — 
what  1  knew  —  that  such  a  trial  must  expose  terrible 
family  scandals  —  that  it  would  be  a  disgrace  not  to 
snatch  at  any  chance  of  bringing  it  to  a  close  —  that 
probably  the  judge  would  give  it  for  private  investi- 
gation  to  some  other  Queen's  counsellor  —  that,  in 
fact,   it   was  never  likely  to  he  a  trial. 

When  I  came  down  from  Mr.  Hawrkins,  Mary 
Stanley  and  I  were  taken  to  court.  There  were  so 
many  cases  to  be  tried,  that  ours  could  not  come  on 
for    some    time.     As  Leycester  Penrhyn  was   there, 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  453 

who  was  chairman  of  the  Quarter  Sessions  at  Guild- 
ford, we  were  given  places  on  the  raised  da'is  behind 
the  judge,  and  there  we  all  sat  waiting  through  many 
hours.  In  that  intensely  hot  weather,  the  court- 
'house,  with  its  high  timber  roof  and  many  open 
windows,  was  far  cooler  than  the  outer  air,  and  we 
did  not  suffer  from  the  heat.  But  the  judge,  Baron 
Martin,  whom  I  have  heard  described  as  far  more  at 
home  on  a  racecourse  than  on  the  judgment-seat,  was 
suffering  violently  from  diarrhoea,  was  most  impatient 
of  the  cases  he  had  to  try,  and  at  last  snatched  his 
wig  from  his  head  and  flung  it  down  upon  the  ground 
beside  him. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  were 
assured  that  it  was  quite  impossible  our  case  could 
be  brought  on  that  day,  as  there  were  still  so  many 
others  to  be  tried,  and  we  were  advised  to  go  out  and 
rest.  So  Mary  Stanley  and  I  went  back  to  the  hotel 
and  remained  there  in  a  cool  room.  Presently,  to 
our  horror,  a  messenger  came  running  down  from  the 
court  and  said,  "  Your  case  is  on,  and  has  been  on 
twenty  minutes  already."  We  rushed  to  the  court 
and  found  the  whole  scene  changed.  All  the  ap- 
proaches to  the  court  were  crowded,  literally  choked 
up  with  witnesses  and  Roman  Catholic  spectators. 
The  court  itself  was  packed  to  overflowing.  As  I 
was  hurried  through  the  crowd,  I  recognised  the  indi- 
viduals forming  the  large  group  of  figures  immedi- 
ately behind  the  judge.  There  were  Pierina  of  the 
Precious  Blood  and  her  attendant  nuns  in  their  longr 

o 

black  veils  and  scarlet  girdles ;   there,  in  her  quaint 
peaked  head-dress,  was  the  nun  of  the  Misericorde 


[.-,1  THE   STORY.    OF    MY    LIFE  [1808 

who  had  watched  through  the  illness;  there  was  the 
burly  figure  of  Mr.  Monteith;  the  sallow  face  of 
Mrs.  Dunlop;  her  husband  the  Admiral;  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery, beautiful  still;  Lady  Lothian  in  her  deep 
mourning  and  looking  very  sad  at  being  supcenaed, 
which  was  a  terrible  pain  to  her;  Dr.  Squires,  Mr. 
Seyer,  and  Miss  Bowles. 

When  I  was  brought  in,  all  seemed  to  be  confu- 
sion, every  one  speaking  at  once;  Mr.  Hawkins  was 
in  vain  trying  to  put  in  a  word,  the  judge  was 
declaiming  that  lie  would  have  an  end  of  the  trial, 
whilst  Serjeant  Parry  for  the  prosecution  was  in  a 
loud  voice  reading  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Montgomery 
and  giving  his  comments  upon  it. 

The  proceedings  had  commenced  by  the  judge 
saying  that  lie  considered  the  case  one  which  it 
would  be  most  undesirable  to  discuss  in  a  public 
court;  and  suggesting,  indeed  trying  to  enforce,  that 
it  should  be  left  to  the  arbitration  of  some  friend 
of  the  family.  Repeatedly  Baron  Martin  urged  the 
expediency  of  a  private  investigation,  saying  that  he 
"  felt  it  his  duty  to  make  the  suggestion,  and  that 
he  thought  the  learned  counsel  (Parry)  might  act 
upon  it."  But  the  lawyers  for  the  opposition  refused 
any  compromise  whatever,  for  they  knew  what  the 
evidence  of  Pierina  and  the  servants  was  to  be. 

Serjeant  Parry  then  opened  his  speech  by  describ- 
ing between  whom  the  action  was  taking  place.  He 
drew  a  picture  of  the  nominal  prosecutor's  life  in 
which  he  dwelt  on  "the  brilliant  examination  at 
Sandhurst,"  but  touched  lightly  upon  the  time  which 
he  had  passed  in  the  gaieties  both  of  the  Continent 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC    CONSPIRACY  455 

and  of  this  country,  after  which  he  became  "  not  em- 
barrassed, but  reduced  in  circumstances."  He  then 
said  that  Esmeralda,  had  recently  had  a  tolerable  for- 
tune, and  was  doubtless  u  supposed  at  her  death  to  be 
in  possession  of  it,  but  she  was  not,  for  she  entered 
into  speculations  which  had  proved  unsuccessful,  so 
that  she  died  a  comparatively  poor  woman."  He 
then  described  the  death-bed  will.  He  asserted  that 
the  only  cause  of  the  death  was  inflammation  of  the 
bowels.  He  then  said  that  he  should  proceed  to  read 
the  letter,  "  supplementing  it  with  evidence  to  prove 
that  the  defendant  was  actuated  by  the  wickedest 
malice." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  we  arrived  in  court. 
When  a  little  silence  was  obtained,  Parry  began  to 
read  the  letter,  and  having  concluded  the  first  sen- 
tence, said,  "  When  the  defendant  states  that  a  report 
has  been  circulated  in  London,  &c,  he  states  a  delib- 
erate falsehood.  No  such  report  ever  was  heard  by 
him,  and  I  will  not  say  it  is  the  effect  of  his  imagina- 
tion, it  is  simply  an  invention  for  the  purpose  of  dam- 
aging the  character  of  his  brother."  1 

Serjeant  Parry  then  read  the  paragraph  saying  that 
in  the  first  will  Francis  was  not  even  alluded  to.  "I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  this  also  is  totally  false," 
he  said,  and  that  with  the  will  itself  lying  open  upon 
the  table  before  him. 

Parry  passed  over  the  third  paragraph  of  the  letter, 
without  any  criticism  except  an  absolute  denial,  but 

1  At  this  point  the  agitation  of  Mary  Stanley,  who  had  been  my 
informant,  was  so  great,  that  .she  startled  the  court  by  something  like 
a  shout  of  denial. 


456  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1868 

he  read  a  note  written  by  my  sister  before  she  re- 
ceived  Francis'  fatal  letter,  in  proof  of  the  affectionate 
terms  on  which  they  were  living.  That  the  "men- 
tion of  his  name  made  her  scream  with  horror,"  he 
declared  to  be  utterly  false,  and  he  asserted  (for  the 
l'n>t  time  stating  facts)  that  the  Abbess  Pierina  would 
deny  that  any  message  was  given  by  my  sister  to  her. 
Finally,  Party  denied  that  there  was  any  truth  in  the 
statement  that  Francis  had  received  money  from  his 
sister,  bevond  the  sum  of  £300. 

As  Serjeant  Parry  concluded  his  speech,  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery was  called  into  the  witness-box.  While  the 
preliminary  questions  were  being  put  to  her,  the  con- 
fusion in  court  increased;  a  letter  was  brought  in  to 
Mi.  Harrison  and  handed  on  by  him  to  Mr.  Hawkins. 
It  was  the  letter  from  Monsignor  Paterson,  written  on 
Saturday  evening,  which  announced  that  Pierina 
would  deny  and  belie  the  deposition  he  had  made. 
Immediately  Mr.  Hawkins  turned  round  to  me  and 
said.  -Our  cause  has  received  a  fatal  blow ;  the  Ab- 
bess  Pierina  is  about  to  deny  all  the  evidence  she  has 
given  before  —  deny  all  that  she  has  said  to  Monsi- 
gnor Paterson,  and  will  swear  that  your  sister's  death- 
bed passed  in  total  silence,  save  for  the  single  word 
•  Auntie."  and  under  these  circumstances  it  is  perfectly 
useless  to  go  on  ;  our  antagonists  will  get  the  money 
they  long  for;  for  money  is  all  they  really  care  for." 
—  "  But,"  I  said,  w-  we  can  bring  endless  persons  and 
Monsignor  Paterson' s  own  deposition  to  prove  what 
the  Abbess's  former  statements  have  been." — "No," 
said  Mr.  Hawkins,  "you  cannot  bring  a  witness  to 
prove  a   witness." — "But,"  I  said,  "we  can  prove 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC    CONSPIRACY  457 

every  other  part  of  the  letter."  — "That  will  do  no 
good,"  said  Mr.  Hawkins ;  "  if  yon  fail  in  proving  a 
single  point,  you  fail  in  proving  the  whole,  and  the 
Roman  Catholics  will  get  the  money ;  besides,  you 
cannot  prove  every  other  part  of  the  letter,  for  where 
is  the  maid,  Mary  Laffam  ?  —  she  is  not  here."  And 
in  truth,  Mary  Laffam  (whose  evidence  was  all-impor- 
tant, who  was  to  swear  to  the  screaming  at  the  very 
mention  of  Francis'  name,  who  was  constantly  present 
during  the  illness)  was  mysteriously  missing,  and  no 
trace  of  her  could  then  be  found.  Two  days  after- 
wards she  was  traced,  and  it  was  discovered  that  she 
had  been  sent  abroad  by  the  Roman  Catholic  confed- 
erates to  be  out  of  the  way  —  sent  by  them  to  the 
Augustinian  Abbey  of  Charenton  in  France. 

During  the  discussion  which  was  now  taking  place, 
the  utmost  excitement  prevailed  in  court.  Almost 
every  one  stood  up.  Mr.  Hawkins  urged,  "  Are  yout 
adopted  family  prepared  to  pay  what  the  Roman 
Catholics  claim?"  —  "Certainly  not."  — "Then  you 
must  submit  to  a  verdict."  —  "I  leave  it  in  your 
hands."  So  I  wrote  on  a  bit  of  paper,  "  Say  no  more 
than  this.  I  withdraw  anything  that  may  be  legally 
taken  as  libellous  in  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Montgomery." 
Then  the  group  opened,  and  Mr.  Hawkins  again  stood 
up  and  said  that  he  was  in  a  position  to  withdraw  the 
letter  —  if  it  contained  any  libellous  statements  to 
apologise  for  them.  At  the  same  time  "  his  client 
could  not  submit  to  be  told  that  he  had  either  acted 
maliciously  or  invented  anything :  he  was  absent  from 
England  at  the  time  of  his  sister's  death,  and  had 
throughout  acted  entirely  upon  information  he  had 
received  from  those  upon  the  spot." 


458  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [18fi8 

"  I  will  have  an  end  of  this,  gentlemen,"  exclaimed 
the  judge  —  "  I  give  a  verdict  for  forty  shillings/' 

■■  Make  it  ten  guineas,  my  Lord,"  shouted  the 
Roman  Catholic  lawyer,  who  had  previously  inter- 
rupted Serjeant  Parry  by  saying,  "We  will  have 
money,  we  will  have  money. "  "There  shall  be  an 
end  of  this,  gentlemen,"  said  the  judge;  "I  give  a 
verdict  for  forty  shillings."  and  he  walked  out  of 
court.  And  so  this  painful  ordeal  came  to  an  end. 
It  was  not  till  afterwards  that  L  was  aware  that  the 
verdict  of  forty  shillings  obliged  me  to  pay  the  costs 
of  both  sides —  £199  to  my  lawyer,  and  £293  to  the 
Lioman  Catholic  lawyer,  which  was  afterwards  reduced 
by  a  taxing-master  to  £207,  9s.  Id. 

As  soon  as  we  left  the  court  and  returned  to  the 
hotel,  our  solicitor  came  in,  and,  before  all  those  of 
our  family  who  were  present,  declared  how,  by  my 
desire,  he  had  repeatedly  offered  to  withdraw  the  let- 
ter to  Mrs.  Montgomery,  but  how  money  was  always 
demanded  as  its  price,  and  how  money  was  proved 
throughout  to  be  the  only  real  object  of  those  who 
brought  the  action.  In  looking  hack,  therefore,  upon 
the  whole  of  this  terrible  affair,  I  only  see  three  ways 
in  which  the  trial  could  have  been  avoided :  — 

1.  If  Miss  Stanley  had  had  the  courage  to  go  openly  to 
Mrs.  Monteith  and  Lady  Lothian,  and  say  boldly  that  she, 
a  Roman  Catholic,  was  the  cause  of  my  writing  the  letter 
to  Mrs.  Montgomery;  that  as  to  the  "report,"  I  acted 
entirely  and  exclusively  on  information  which  she  gave; 
that  at  first  I  had  hesitated  to  do  as  she  wished,  but  that 
she  had  continued  to  urge  it;  and  that  she,  a  Catholic, 
had  looked  over  the  letter  before  it  was  sent,  and  begged 
me  not  to  alter  a  word  of  it. 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  459 

2.  If  my  solicitor  had  acted  upon  the  one  piece  of  advice 
given  by  Mr.  Phelps,  and  weeks  before  the  trial  had 
requested  Pierina  to  deliver  her  "message,"  we  should 
then  have  known  that  the  message  was  not  given  to  her 
except  through  the  medium  of  the  servants,  and  there- 
fore that  by  English  law  the  wording  of  the  letter  was 
indefensible. 

3.  If  my  solicitor  had  been  less  supine  in  summoning 
witnesses  —  if  he  had  at  once  subpoenaed  Mary  Laffam  and 
the  other  maids  on  our  side,  and  had  also  summoned  my 
Aunt  Fitz-Gerald,  who  would  have  been  willing  and  glad  to 
give  her  evidence,  and  whose  very  appearance  would  have 
made  Francis  shrink  from  allowing  the  Roman  Catholic 
confederacy  to  continue  the  trial. 

Mary  Stanley  and  I  went  early  to  the  Guildford 
station  to  wait  for  the  train  which  was  to  take  us 
back  to  London.  We  had  not  been  long  on  the  plat- 
form before  all  the  Roman  Catholic  party  emerged 
upon  it.  I  went  at  once  to  meet  and  pass  them, 
thinking  it  better  at  once  to  establish  the  terms  on 
which  we  were  to  remain  through  life.  The  Mother 
Pierina  alone  lingered  behind  the  rest,  and,  with 
streaming  eyes  and  outstretched  hands,  came  towards 
me.  "  Oh,  I  thought  it  would  have  been  for  peace," 
she  said.  I  could  not  refuse  to  take  her  hand,  when 
Mr.  Monteith,  turning  round,  roughly  seized  her  by 
the  shoulder  and  led  her  away,  saying,  "  Reverend 
Mother,  I  must  insist  that  you  do  not  speak  to  that 
.  .  .  person."  Afterwards,  when  she  was  entering 
the  railway  carriage  after  the  others,  Mrs.  Dunlop 
seized  Pierina  and  pushed  her  out  of  the  carriage, 
almost  throwing  her  down  upon  the  platform,  and 
slammed  the  carriage    door  in  her  face.      Admiral 


460  THE  STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1868 

Dunlop  immediately  forced  his  wife  to  get  out  of  the 
carriage,  and  apologise  tu  the  Reverend  Mother.  1 
did  not  know  till  lung  afterwards  the  reason  of  Mrs. 
Dunlop's  violence,  which  was  the  persistence  with 
which  Pierina  throughout  that  day  had  dwelt  upon 
the  wicked  unfairness  of  having  the  trial  in  the 
absence  of  Mary  Laffam,  who  was  the  witness  really 
responsible  for  all  that  had  heen  said.  On  Au- 
gust 11)  Mary  Stanley  wrote  to  me:  — 

"  Yesterday  I  saw  Sister  Pierina.  She  said  how 
extremely  grieved  she  had  heen  for  you.  She  said  the 
lawyer  on  the  Catholic  side  read  the  evidence  to  all  the 
party  at  Guildford,  and  that  she  then  expressed  her  dis- 
sent,  saving  that  it  was  not  in  accordance  with  what  Mary 
Laffam  had  said  to  her  and  others,  and  that  in  justice  to 
yon.  she.  Laffam,  ought  to  be  present.  All  through  that 
day  (which  she  said  was  most  dreadful  to  her)  she  asserted 
and  reasserted  this,  and  that  yon  were  not  fairly  dealt 
with,  and  to  me  she  complained  sadly  of  the  un-christian 
spirit  in  which  the  affair  had  heen  carried  on:  Mrs. 
Dunlop,   she  said,    was  far  the  worst. 

"  Pierina  denies  nothing.  She  could  only  say,  when 
asked  about  the  message,  that  none  was  given  directly  to 
he?\  and  that  to  her  your  sister  had  only  said,  '  Tell  Francis 
that  he  has  been  the  cause  of  my  death.'  She  was  for- 
bidden  to  say  to  whom  the  message  was  given.  So  far 
from  going  over  to  the  other  side,  she  was  at  war  with 
them  the  whole  day,  and  told  me  she  did  not  believe  any 
of  that  party  would  ever  come  near  her  again;  and  I  met 
Monsignor  Paterson  on  Sunday,  who  told  me  that  Mrs. 
Dunlop  had  been  to  him  to  complain  bitterly  of  her." 

Afterwards  the  feeling  of   the  conspirators,  espe- 
cially of  Mrs.  Dunlop  and  Mrs.  Montgomery,  became 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  461 

so  violent  against  the  Mother  Pierina  (on  account  of 
her  persisting  in  the  injustice  of  the  trial),  that  they 
not  only  stopped  their  own  subscriptions  to  her  chari- 
ties, but  induced  others  to  do  so,  and  eventually,  by 
the  interest  of  Mr.  Monteith  with  Monsignor  Talbot 
and  other  Roman  authorities,  they  brought  about  her 
recall  and  persecuted  her  out  of  England  altogether. 

On  August  7,  Monsignor  Paterson  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Mary  Stanley,  explanatory  of  his  conduct  in 
the  affair.  It  contained  the  following  remarkable 
passage :  — 

"A  day  or  two  after  Miss  Hare's  death,  which  took  me 
quite  by  surprise,  I  went  to  her  house,  and  there  saw 
Sister  Pierina,  who  told  me  she  had  been  summoned,  and 
found  Miss  Hare  actually  dying;  that  she  seemed  very 
suffering,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  resigning  herself  to 
the  will  of  God.  I  remember  also  hearing  that  she 
expressed  distress  at  some  conduct  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Francis  Hare,  and  I  thought  that  other  expressions  used 
implied  a  suspicion  on  her  part  of  some  kind  of  foul  play. 
Of  course,  had  I  taken  this  au  serieux,  it  would  have 
made  a  great  impression,  but  I  set  it  down,  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  as  a  random  (perhaps  almost  delirious) 
expression,  such  as  people  who  are  very  ill  sometimes  use 
with  very  little  meaning  at  all." 

Strange  certainly  that  an  eminent  Roman  Catholic 
priest  should  call  at  his  friend's  house,  hear  that  she 
had  died  suddenly,  and  that  she  had  said  on  her 
death-bed  that  she  died  from  "  foul  play,"  and  yet  be 
able  so  easily  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  his  mind! 

Soon  after  the  trial  I  wrote  a  long  account  of  the 
whole    proceedings    to   Archbishop    Manning.      His 


462  THE   STORY    OF  MY   LIFE  [1868 

answer  was  very  kind  but  very  evasive,  —  "Miss 
Bare's  death  was  most  sad  .  .  .  the  trial  must  have 
been  mosl  painful,"  he  "sympathised  deeply,"  &c, 
hut    without  giving  a   direct   opinion  of   any  kind. 

It  was  not  till  sonic  months  later  that  I  became 
acquainted  with  a  secret  which  convinced  me  that, 
though  ni\  sister's  end  was  probably  hastened  by  the 
conduct  of  her  brother  Francis,  yet  poison  was  the 
original  cause  of  her  death.  When  Ave  next  visited 
Pisa,  Madame  Victoire  told  me  how,  when  my  sister 
was  a  little  girl  of  six  years  old  at  Paris,  she  and  her 
own  little  -ill.  Victoria  Ackermann,  were  sitting  on 
two  little  stools  doing  their  needlework  side  by  side. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  terrible  outcry.  Little  Anna 
Bare  had  swallowed  her  thimble.  The  whole  house 
was  in  consternation,  doctors  were  summoned  in 
haste,  the  child  was  given  emetics,  was  held  upside 
down,  everything  was  done  that  could  be  done  to 
bring  the  thimble  back,  but  it  was  too  late.  Then 
the  doctors  inquired  what  the  thimble  was  like,  and 
on  seeing  the  thimble  of  the  little  Victoria,  who  had 
received  one  at  the  same  time,  were  satisfied  that  it 
was  not  dangerous,  as  the  thimble,  being  of  walnut- 
wood,  would  naturally  dissolve  with  time,  and  they 
gave  medicines  to  hasten  its  dissolution.  But,  in  the 
midst  of  the  confusion,  came  Mrs.  Large,  the  nurse, 
who  confessed  with  bitter  tears  that,  owing  to  her 
folly,  the  thimble  was  not  what  it  was  imagined  to 
be.  She  bad  not  liked  to  see  the  child  of  the  mistress 
with  the  same  thimble  as  the  child  of  the  maid,  and 
had  given  little  Anna  one  with  a  broad  band  which 
looked  like   gold  but  was  really  copper.      When  the 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  463 

doctors  heard  this,  the  accident  naturally  assumed  a 
serious  aspect,  and   they  redoubled   their   efforts  to 
bring  back  the  thimble.     But  every  thing  failed ,    the 
wooden  thimble  dissolved  with  time,  but  the  copper 
band     remained.      Gradually,     as    Esmeralda     grew 
stronger,  the  accident  was  forgotten  by  all  but  her 
mother,  Mrs.  Large,  and  Madame  Victoire,  who  ob- 
served from  time  to  time,  in  childish  illnesses  of  un- 
usual   violence,   symptoms    which    they  alone   could 
recognise,  but  which  were  such  as  would  arise  through 
slight  injury  from  poison  of  verdigris.     As  my  sister 
grew,  the  copper  ring  grew  also,  attenuated  to  the 
minutest  thread,  but  encircling  her  body.     From  time 
to   time    she    was   seriously  affected  by  it,  but  her 
mother  could  not  bear  it  to  be  spoken  of,  and  her 
repulsion    for   the    subject    communicated   itself    to 
Esmeralda  herself.     She  was  warned  to  evade  a  clamp 
climate  or  the  use  of   vegetables.      When   she  was 
seized  with  her  violent  illness  at  Dijon,  the  symptoms 
were  all  such  as  would  be  caused  by  poison  of  ver- 
digris.    She  then  went  to  Pisa,  where  Madame  Vic- 
toire was  alarmed  by  what  she  heard,  and  insisted 
upon  the  best  advice  being  procured,  and  a  medical 
examination.     The  doctors  who  saw  her   even  then 
spoke  to  Madame  Victoire  of  her  state  as  very  seri- 
ous, and  requiring  the  most  careful  watching.     When 
Esmeralda  went  to  Rome  to  the  canonisation  in  the 
summer  of  1867,  she  returned  by  Pisa.     The  faithful 
Madame   Victoire   then    sent  for  a  famous    medical 
professor  of  the  University  of  Bologna  to  meet  her, 
and  insisted  upon  her  being  examined  by  him.     He 
afterwards    told    Madame    Victoire    privately    that 


Kit  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1868 

though,  by  intense  care,  Miss  Hare  might  live  for 
many  years,  her  Life,  in  case  of  accident,  hung  on  a 
thread,  and  that  it  was  highly  improbable  that  she 
would  live  Long,  for  thai  the  copper  ring  was  begin- 
ning to  tell  very  seriously  upon  her  constitution,  and 
thai  when  she  died  it  would  probably  be  suddenly  of 
Maids,  sickness,  with  every  appearance  of  poison  — 
poison  of  verdigris.     And  so  it  was. 

< >ne  of  the  principal  actors  in  the  scene  at  Guild- 
ford was  soon  after  called  to  account  before  a  higher 
tribunal  than  any  that  earth  can  afford.  On  the  18th 
of  November  (1868)1  received  (at  Rome),  to  my  great 
surprise,  a  letter  from  Madame  Flora  Limosin,  of 
the  Hotel  cle  Londres  at  Pisa  (Victoire's  youngest 
daughter),  saying  that  Francis  was  about  to  arrive 
there  from  live  res.  He  had  been  sent  away  from 
England  some  time  before,  having  then  £80  in  his 
possession.  Whether  this  sum  was  obtained  by  a 
Roman  Catholic  subscription,  I  have  never  been  able 
to  learn,  but  from  this  time  the  Roman  Catholic  con- 
spirators ceased  to  help  him:  he  had  failed  as  the 
instrument  for  which  they  required  him,  and  they 
now  flung  him  aside  as  useless.  His  folly  at  Guild- 
ford, in  lending  himself  to  their  designs,  had  also 
alienated  the  whole  of  his  own  family,  even  to  the 
most  distant  degrees  of  relationship.  Not  knowing 
where  to  turn,  he  could  only  think  of  two  persons 
who  would  receive  him  in  his  destitution.  His 
mother's  faithful  maid  Madame  Victoire  and  her 
daughter  Flora  were  still  living  at  Pisa,  and  to  them, 
when  he  had  only  £20  left,  he  determined  to  make 


1868]  THE   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   CONSPIRACY  465 

his  way.  On  landing  at  Spezia,  though  even  then  in 
a  dying  state,  he  would  not  enter  a  hotel,  because  he 
felt  that  if  he  entered  it  he  would  never  have  strength 
to  leave  it  again,  and  he  sat  for  hours  upon  his  lug- 
gage on  the  platform  of  the  station  till  the  train 
started.  For  the  sake  of  their  old  companionship  in 
childhood,  and  of  the  kindness  she  had  received  from 
my  father,  Flora  Limosin  not  only  received  Francis, 
but  also  the  person  to  whom  he  was  married,  and  gave 
them  some  quiet  rooms  opening  upon  the  garden  of 
the  Hotel  cle  Londres,  where  he  was  nursed  by  the 
faithful  friends  of  his  infancy.1  He  was  attended  by 
Padre  Pastacaldi,  who  administered  to  him  the  last 
offices  of  the  Church,  and  says  that  he  died  penitent, 
and  sent  me  a  message  hoping  that  I  forgave  him  for 
all  that  had  passed  at  Guildford.  He  died  on  the  27th 
of  November,  utterly  destitute,  and  dependent  upon 
the  charity  of  his  humble  friends.  He  was  buried 
by  them  in  a  corner  of  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa, 
near  their  own  family  burial-place,  where  the  let- 
ters F.  H.  in  the  pavement  alone  mark  the  resting- 
place  of  Francis  George  Hare,  the  idolised  son  of  his 
mother.2 

1  As  Flora  Ackermann,  Madame  Limosin  had  been  brought  up  in 
my  father's  family,  and,  with  her  sister  Victoria,  had  been  treated  like 
his  own  children. 

2  Now  (1895)  every  one  who  took  part  in  the  trial  at  Guildford  is 
dead,  except  the  priests,  and,  I  believe,  the  Abbess  Pierina.  The 
person  whom  Francis  Hare  had  married  during  the  last  months  of  his 
life  vanished,  immediately  after  his  death,  into  the  chaos  from  whence 
she  had  come. 

vol.  ii.  —  30 


XV 
LAST    YEARS    WITH    THE    MOTHER 

'•  Nothing  bul  the   infinite  pity  is  sufficient  for  the  infinite  pathos 
of  human  life."  —  -John   [nglesant. 

"  Never  here,  forever  there, 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care, 
Ami  death,  and  time  shall  disappear,  — 
Forever  there,  but  never  here  ! 
The  horologe  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly.  — 
Forever  —  never ! 
Never  —  forever  !  " 

—  Longfellow. 

i 

"Die  nobis  .   .   .  Quid  vidisti  in  via? 

Gloriam  vidi  Resurgentis." 

—  From  the  Paschal  Mass. 

"  C'est   vine    ame  qui   se  raconte   dans  ces  volumes:     'Autrefois, 
aujourd'hui.'     I'n   abtme  les  separe,  le  tonibeau." — Victor  Hugo. 

The  autumn  of  1868  was  indeed  filled  for  me  with 
utter  misery  and  "  weariness  of  spirit."  If  it  were 
not  that  my  dear  Mother  had  gone  hand  and  hand 
with  me  through  the  terrible  time  of  the  trial  and 
the  weeks  which  followed,  I  could  scarcely  have 
survived  them.  To  please  her,  I  went  away  for  a 
time,  at  the  end  of  August,  to  our  old  friend  Mrs. 
Francis  Dawk  ins  near  Havant,  and  to  Ripley  Castle 
and  Klaxton  in  Yorkshire;  but  1  had  no  spirits  to 
enjoy,  scarcely  to  endure  these  visits. 


1868]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  467 

It  added  to  the  complication  of  troubles  that  the 
poor  Aunt  Eleanor,  for  whose  sake  alone  I  had 
brought  all  the  trouble  upon  myself,  now  began  to 
take  some  perverted  view,  —  what  I  have  never  ascer- 
tained. She  went  to  live  with  her  brother  George 
Paul,  who  had  lately  returned  from  America,  and 
for  ten  years  I  never  saw  her  to  speak  to. 

I  was  most  thankful  when  we  left  England  for 
Italy  on  the  12th  of  October,  and  seemed  to  breathe 
freely  when  we  were  once  more  in  our  old  travelling 
life,  sleeping  in  the  primitive  inns  at  Joigny  and 
Nuits,  and  making  excursions  to  Citeaux  and  An- 
necy.  Carlyle  says,  "My  father  had  one  virtue 
which  I  should  try  to  imitate  :  he  never  spoke  of 
what  ?vas  disagreeable  and  past"  and  my  Mother 
was  the  same  ;  she  turned  her  back  at  once  upon 
the  last  months,  which  she  put  away  for  ever  like 
a  sealed  volume.  We  spent  several  weeks  at  Florence 
in  the  Via  clella  Scala,  whence,  the  Mother  being  well, 
I  went  constantly  to  draw  in  the  gallery  of  sketches 
by  Old  Masters  at  the  Uffizi.  But,  in  the  middle  of 
November,  I  felt  alread}T  so  ill,  that  I  began  to  dread 
a  possibility  of  dying  where  my  Mother  would  not 
have  any  one  to  look  after  her,  and  on  the  16th  we 
hurried  to  Rome,  where  I  had  just  time  to  look  out 
lodgings  for  my  Mother,  and  establish  her  and  Lea  in 
the  Piazza  Mignanelli,  when  I  succumbed  to  a  violent 
nervous  fever.  Most  terrible  are  the  sufferings  which 
I  recollect  at  this  time,  the  agonising  pains  by  day, 
and  the  nights  of  delirium,  which  were  truly  full 
of  Coleridge's  "  pains  of  sleep,"  in  which  I  was  fre- 
quently haunted  by  the  sardonic  smile  of  the  horrible 


168 


THE   STORY   OF   MY  LIFE 


[1868 


Mrs.  Dunlop,  and  otherwise  by  dreams  which,  were,  as 
Carlyle  wouldsay,  "a  constant  plunging  and  career- 
ing through  chaos  and  cosmos."  Jn  the  second  week 
of  December  1  rallied  slightly,  and  could  sit  with 
Mother  in  the  sun  on  the  terrace  of  Villa  Negroni. 
1!\  the  Uth  1  was  ahle  to   walk  a  little,  and  went, 


^Sgfi 


T.-'v^ 


JOIGNY. 


supported  on  each  side,  to  the  quiet  sunny  path  by 
the  Tiber  which  then  existed  opposite  Claude's  villa. 
Jus1  in  front  of  us  a  carter  was  walking  by  the  side 
of  his  cart,  heavily  laden  with  stones.  Suddenly  the 
wheel  of  the  cart  went  too  near  the  steeply  sloping 
bank  of  the  Tiber  and  tipped  over  ;  the  horse  tried  in 
vain  to  recover  itself,  but  the  weight  of  the  stones 
was  so  great  that  it  was  dragged  down,  and  slowly, 
slowly,  screaming  as  only  animals  do  scream,  clisap- 

1  From  ''South-Eastern  France." 


1868]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE  MOTHER  469 

peared  with  the  cart  under  the  swollen  yellow  waters  ; 
while  the  driver  stood  helplessly  upon  the  bank  shriek- 
ing and  wringing  his  hands. 

Weak  as  I  was,  this  terrible  scene  naturally 
brought  back  all  my  fever,  which  now  turned  to 
typhoid,  and  I  soon  became  delirious.  By  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday  my  life  was  despaired  of.  But  in 
the  small  hotel  where  we  had  stayed  at  Florence,  we 
had  met  an  American,  Dr.  Winslow,  with  his  wife 
and  daughters,  to  whom  my  Mother  had  shown 
kindness,  and  who  had  been  struck  with  our  entire 
union  and  devotion  to  each  other.  Dr.  Winslow 
arrived  in  Rome  when  I  was  at  the  worst,  and  the 
first  news  he  heard  was  that  I  was  dying.  He  at 
once  gave  up  his  Roman  sight-seeing  and  everything 
else,  and  devoted  himself  to  me,  coming  many  times 
a  clay  and  nursing  me  with  such  wonderful  care,  that 
I  eventually  recovered,  though  it  was  February  be- 
fore I  was  at  all  myself  again.  It  was  an  unspeak- 
able blessing  that  my  Mother  continued  well  during 
my  long  illness,  and  was  so  kindly  looked  after  by 
Mrs.  Woodward  and  Miss  Wright  that  I  had  no 
anxiety  about  her;  though  in  the  spring,  when  we 
had  moved  to  the  Via  Babuino,  she  had  one  of  her 
strange  illnesses,  ending  in  a  tranquil  unbroken  sleep 
which  lasted  two  days  and  nights.  It  was  about 
this  time  that  she  was  called  to  bear  a  loss  which 
in  earlier  years  would  have  been  utterly  crushing, 
that  of  her  sister-friend  Lucy,  who  expired  peacefully 
in  her  quiet  home  at  Abbots-Kerswell,  with  only  her 
faithful  maid  watching  over  her.  In  her  hermit  life, 
my   Aunt   Lucy  had  become  farther   removed  from 


170  THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE  [1868 

us  each  year,  bul  two  years  before  my  Mother  had 
found  greal  happiness  in  visiting  her,  and  her  beau- 
tiful letters  were  a  constant  enjoyment.  Still  it  is  a 
merciful  dispensation  thai  to  those  who  are  them- 
selves on  the  border-land  of  heaven,  bereavements 
tall  less  bitterly,  separations  seem  so  short;  and,  to 
my  Mother,  the  loss  of  the  dearest  friend  of  her  early 
life  was  only  a  quiet  grief:  she  had  "  only  gone  from 
one  room  into  the  next."  My  Aunt  Lucy  Hare  had 
never  liked  me,  hut  I  had  none  of  the  bitter  feeling 
towards  her  which  I  had  towards  my  Aunt  Esther: 
she  truly  loved  my  Mother,  and  I  could  admire, 
though  1  could  not  enter  into,  the  various  graces  of 
her  character,  which  were  none  the  less  real  because 
they  were  those  of  a  Carmelite  nun  in  Protestant 
form. 

To  Roman  antiquaries  this  spring  was  rendered 
important  from  the  discovery  of  the  site  of  the  Porta 
Capena. —  the  site  of  which  was  long  a  vexed  ques- 
tion,—  by  Mr.  J.  H.  Parker,  the  Oxford  publisher, 
who  devoted  milch  of  his  fortune  to  areha'olo^ieal 
pursuits.  Pius  IX.  granted  him  permission  to  exca- 
vate without  in  the  least  believing  anything  would 
come  of  it.  But  when  he  came  to  inspect  the  dis- 
coveries lie  exclaimed,  "Why,  the  heretic's  right," 
and  complained  bitterly  that  his  own  archaeologists, 
whom  he  paid  highly,  should  have  failed  to  find 
what  had  been  discovered  by  a  foreigner.  Mr. 
Parker  carefully  marked  all  the  pieces  then  found 
of  the  Servian  Wall,  and  numbered  them  in  red;  hut, 
the  guardia,  seeing  the  red  marks,  thought  they 
meant  something  revolutionary,  and  destroyed  them. 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  471 

When  he  found  them  gone,  Parker  was  furious.  "  Is 
it,"  he  said,  "  due  to  the  absurdities  of  an  effete  re- 
ligion, or  is  it  perhaps  the  insolence  of  some  rival 
archaeologist?"  (meaning  Rosa). 

As  we  returned  through  France  in  the  spring  of 
1869,  we  diverged  to  Autun  and  Nevers,  the  last  of 
the  pleasant  expeditions  the  dear  Mother  and  I  made 
together  in  summer  weather.  The  greater  part  of 
our  summer  was  spent  quietly  at  home,  and  was 
chiefly  marked  for  me  by  the  marriage  of  my  dear 
friend  Charlie  Wood  to  Lady  Agnes  Courtenay. 

To  Miss  Wright. 

" Holmhurst,  July  10,  1869.  Your  description  made 
me  see  a  pleasant  mental  picture  of  the  cousinhood  assem- 
bled at  your  party.  For  myself,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  all 
social  pleasures  will  henceforward  become  more  and  more 
difficult  for  me,  as  the  Mother,  though  not  ill,  becomes 
daily  more  dependent  upon  me  for  all  her  little  interests 
and  amusements,  so  that  I  scarcely  ever  leave  her  even  for 
an  hour.  It  is  an  odd  hermit-like  life  in  the  small  circuit 
of  our  little  Holmhurst,  with  one  or  two  guests  constantly 
changing  in  its  chambers,  but  no  other  intercourse  with 
the  outside  world.  At  last  summer  has  burst  upon  us, 
and  looks  all  the  brighter  for  the  long  waiting,  and  our 
oak-studded  pastures  are  tilled  with  gay  groups  of  hay- 
makers, gathering  in  the  immense  crop.  The  garden  is 
lovely,  and  my  own  home-sunflower  is  expanding  in  the 
warmth  and  stronger  and  better  than  she  has  been  for 
months  past." 

"Holmhurst,  August  1.  I  cannot  be  away  from  home 
at  all  this  summer,  partly  because  I  cannot  leave  Mother, 
who  (though  very  anxious  to  promote  my  going  away)  is 


472 


THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


f  1869 


really  becoming  more  dependent  upon  my  constant  cure 
and  companionship;  and  partly  because  I  cannot  afford 
the  inevitable  small  expenses  of  going  anywhere,  our 
finances  having  been  completely  prostrated  by  the  Roman 
Catholic  robberies  last  year.  Indeed,  I  have  never  been 
poorer  than  this  year,  as  I  have  had  nothing,  and  when  I 
put  two  threepenny  bits  into  the  Communion  plate  to-day, 


;;>  /,- 


n 

■ 


PORTE    d'aRROUX,   AUTUN.1 


felt  exceedingly  like  the  widow  with  the  two  mites,  for  it 
was  literally  all  that  I  possessed!  However,  this  is  not  so 
very  dreadful  after  all,  and  I  daresay  another  year  matters 

will  come  round."' 


In  September,  however,  when  Charlotte  Leycester 
came  to  take  care  of  nry  Mother,  I  did  go  to  the 
North. 

1   From  "South-Western  France." 


1869]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  473 

To  my  Mother. 

"Ridley  Hall,  Sept.  1,  1869.  Though  I  have  got  into  a 
great  scrape  with  Cousin  Susan  by  calling  blackberry  jelly, 
'  jam, '  and  though  I  was  terribly  scolded  the  other  day  for 
saying  '  thanks, '  —  '  such  new-fangled  vulgarity, '  —  this 
visit  at  Ridley  has  been  very  pleasant.  First,  there  never 
was  more  perfect  ideal  weather,  so  fresh  and  bright,  so 
bracing,  and  the  colouring  of  the  woods  and  moorlands, 
and  the  glorious  tumbling  amber-coloured  rivers  so  beau- 
tiful. Then  I  feel  much  stronger  and  better  than  I  have 
done  for  two  years  past,  and  Cousin  Susan,  who  thought 
me  most  ghastly  when  I  arrived,  is  quite  satisfied  with  the 
results  of  her  grouse,  pheasants,  and  sherry.  On  Wednes- 
day Lady  Blackett  came  to  spend  the  day,  and,  after 
she  was  gone,  Cousin  Susan  and  I  made  a  long  exploring 
expedition  far  beyond  the  Allen  Water,  up  into  the  depths 
of  Staward  valley  —  most  romantic  little  paths  through 
Avoods  and  miniature  rocky  gorges  to  a  ruined  bridge  and 
'  Plankey  Mill, '  and  then  up  a  steep  wood  path  to  the 
moor  of  Briarside.  Cousin  Susan  had  never  been  so  far 
since  she  lived  here,  and  we  were  walking,  or  rather  climb- 
ing, for  three  hours,  attended  by  the  white  dogs.  These 
have  chairs  with  cushions  on  each  side  the  fireplace  in 
her  new  sitting-room.  One  is  in  bad  health,  has  medical 
attendance  from  Hexham  at  half-a-guinea  a  visit,  and 
uninitiated  visitors  must  be  rather  amazed  when  they  see 
'  my  poor  little  sick  girl '  whom  Cousin  Susan  is  constantly 
talking  of .  .  .  .  On  Sundays  there  is  only  service  here  in 
the  morning:  the  clergyman  giving  as  his  curious  reason 
for  not  having  it  in  the  afternoon,  that  '  perhaps  it  might 
annoy  the  Dissenters.'  .  .  .  This  evening  it  has  thun- 
dered. Cousin  Susan,  as  usual  on  such  occasions,  hid 
herself  with  her  maid  under  the  staircase  (the  safest  place 
in  case  of  thunderbolts),  and  held  a  handkerchief  over  her 
eyes  till  it  was  over;  but  her  nerves  have  been  quite  upset 
ever  since,  and  we  are  not  to  have  the  carriage  to-morrow 
for  fear  the  storm  should  return." 


171  THE   STORY    OF    .MY    LIFE  [13G9 

"  Ford  Castle^  Sept.  8.  It  was  almost  dark  as  I  drove 
up  the  beautiful  new  road  over  the  high  bridge  to  the 
renovated  castle,  which  is  now  all  grand  and  in  keeping. 

I  found  tin'  beautiful  mistress  of  the  house  in  her  new 
library,  which  is  a  most  delightful  room,  with  carved 
chimney-piece  and  bookcases,  and  vases  of  ferns  and 
(lowers  in  all  the  corners  and  in  the  deep  embrasures  of 
the  windows.  She  is  full  of  the  frescoes  in  her  school. 
'I  want  to  paint  "Josiah  was  eight  years  old  when  he 
began  to  reign."  I  think  he  must  be  a  little  boy  on  a  step 
with  other  children  round  him- — a  very  little  boy,  and  he 
must  have  some  little  regal  robes  on,  and  I  think  I  must 
put  a  little  crown  upon  his  head.*  " 

"Sept.  10.  Every  day  of  a  visit  at  Ford  always  seems 
to  contain  more  of  charm  and  instruction  than  hundreds 
of  visits  elsewhere.  The  great  interest  this  time  has  been 
Lady  Canning's  drawings  —  many  hundreds  of  them,  and 
all  so  beautiful  that  you  long  to  look  at  each  for  hours. 
All  yesterday  evening  Lady  Waterford  read  aloud  to  us 
—  old  family  letters,  from  old  Lady  llardwicke  and  from 
Lady  Anne  Barnard.  fc  My  great-aunt,  Lady  Anne  Baf- 
nard, '  she  says  'wrote  a  book  very  like  your  Family 
.Memoirs,  only  hers  was  too  imaginative.  She  called  all 
her  characters  by  imaginary  names,  and  made  them  all 
quite  too  charming:  still  her  book  is  most  interesting. 
She  was  very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Fitzherbert,  and  describes 
all  her  first  meetings  with  George  IV.  and  the  marriage, 
and  then  she  went  with  her  on  her  famous  expedition  to 
Paris.  She  got  possession  of  all  the  real  letters  of  the 
family  and  put  them  into  her  book,  but  she  embellished 
them.  She  got  hold  of  a  letter  Uncle  Caledon  wrote  to 
my  aunt  when  he  proposed  to  her.  but  when  Uncle 
(aledon  read  the  book  and  found  a  most  beautiful  letter, 
he  said,  "My  dear.  I  never  wrote  all  this."  —  "No,  my 
dear,"  she  answered.   w*  I  know  you   did  not,  but  then  I 


1869] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


475 


thought  your  real  letter  was  not  warm  enough."  Lady 
Anne  Barnard  wrote  "Auld  Robin  Gray,"  and  she  used  to 
describe  how  some  one  translated  it  into  French,  and 
how,  when  she  went  to  Paris,  she  saw  every  one  looking 
at  her,  she  could  not  imagine  why,   till  she  heard  some 


FORD    CASTLE,    THE    LIBRARY. 


one   say,    "Voila   l'auteur   du   fameux   roman   de    Robin 
Gray. 


55    »    5?  O 


"Sept.  10.  We  have  all  been  to  luncheon  at  Carham, 
sixteen  miles  off,  and  the  latter  part  of  the  drive  very 
pretty  —  close  to  the  wide  reaches  of  the  Tweed,  with 
seagulls  flitting  over  it,  and  Cuyp-like  groups  of  cattle  on 
the  shore,  waiting  for  the  ferryboats  to  take  them  across 

1  From  "  The  Story  of  Two  Noble  Lives." 

2  Lady  Anne  Barnard  died  in  1S25. 


476  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1869 

to  Coldstream  Fair.  Carham  is  one  of  the  well-known 
haunted  houses:  the  'Carham  light'  is  celebrated  and  is 
constantly  seen.  We  asked  old  Mrs.  Compton  of  eighty- 
three,  who  lives  then'  now,  about  the  supernatural  sights 
of  Carham.  'Och,'she  said,  'and  have  ye  niver  heard 
the  story  of  the  phantom  carriage?  We  have  just  heard 
it  this  very  morning:  when  we  were  waiting  for  you,  we 
heard  it  drive  up.  We  are  quite  used  to  it  now.  A  car- 
riage drives  quickly  up  to  the  door  with  great  rattling  and 
noise,  and  when  it  stops,  the  horses  seem  to  paw  and  tear 
up  the  graved.  Strange  servants  are  terribly  frightened 
by  it.  One  day  when  1  was  at  luncheon  I  heard  a  carriage 
1 1  rive  up  quickly  to  the  door:  there  was  no  doubt  of  it. 
I  told  the  servant  who  was  in  waiting  to  go  out  and  see 
who  it  was.  When  he  came  back  I  asked  who  had  come. 
I  !e  was  pale  as  ashes.  "  Oh,"  he  said,  "it 's  only  just  the 
phantom  coach." 

" "  And  then  there  is  the  Carham  light.  That  is  just 
beautiful!  It  is  a  large  globe  of  fire  in  the  shape  of  a  full 
moon:  I  have  seen  it  hundreds  of  times.  It  moves  about 
in  the  woods,  and  sometimes  settles  in  one  place.  The 
first  time  I  saw  it  1  was  driving  from  Kelso  and  1  saw  a 
great  ball  of  lire.  1  said  to  the  driver,  "What  is  that?"  — 
"Oh,  it's  just  the  Carham  Light,"  he  said.  When  Dick1 
came  in,  he  said  he  did  not  believe  it  —  he  had  never  seen 
it;  but  that  night  it  came  —  bright  as  ever.  All  the 
gentlemen  went  out  into  the  woods  to  examine  it;  but  it 
moved  before  them.  They  all  saw  it,  and  they  were  quite 
convinced:  it  has  never  been  explained.' 

•  We  had  tea  with  the  charming  old  lady.  'I've  just 
had  these  cakes  made.  Lady  Waterford,'  she  said,  '  because 
they  were  once  very  weel  likit  by  some  very  dear  to  you; 
so  I  thought  you  would  like  them." 

■■  Lady  Waterford  sends  you  a  riddle:  — 

1   Her  Bon-in-liiw.  Mr.  Hodgson  Ilinde. 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE  MOTHER  477 

"  'Mon  premier  est  tin  tyran,  mon  second  une  horreur, 
Mon  tout  est  le  diable  lui-meine. 
Mais  si  mon  premier  est  bon,  mon  second  ne  fait  rien, 
Et  mon  tout  est  le  bonheur  supreme.'  " x 

"Foxhow,  Ambleside  Sept.  12,  1869.  How  lovely  the 
drive  into  Foxhow  from  Windermere ;  bnt,  after  the  grand 
ideas  of  my  childhood,  how  small  everything  seems,  even 
the  lake  and  the  mountains !  We  drove  in  at  the  well- 
remembered  gate  by  Rotha  Cottage,  and  along  those 
lovely  Swiss  pasture-meadows.  It  was  like  a  dream  of  the 
past  as  one  turned  into  the  garden,  all  so  exactly  the  same 
and  so  well  remembered,  not  only  from  our  last  brief  visit, 
but  from  that  of  twenty-six  years  ago.  Dear  Mrs.  Arnold 
is  little  altered,  and  is  so  tenderly  affectionate  and  charm- 
ing, that  it  is  delightful  to  be  with  her.  She  likes  to  ask 
all  about  you  and  Holmhurst,  and  says  that  her  power  of 
producing  mind-pictures  and  dwelling  upon  them  often 
brings  you  before  her,  so  that  she  sees  you  as  before,  only 
older,  in  your  home  life.  It  is  quite  beautiful  to  see  the 
intense  devotion  of  her  children  to  their  mother  and  her 
happiness  in  them,  in  Fan  especially.  All  the  absent  ones 
write  to  her  at  least  three  times  a  week. 

"  We  have  just  been  in  a  covered  car  to  Rydal  Church : 
how  beautiful  the  situation!  How  well  I  remembered 
being  sick  as  a  child  from  the  puggy  smell  of  its  hideous 
interior.  It  was  just  as  puggy  to-day,  but  I  was  not  sick. 
There  was  a  most  extraordinary  preacher,  who  declared 
that  the  Woman  on  the  seven  mountains  was  Rome  on  her 
seven  hills  —  '  allowed  to  be  so  by  all  authorities,  Jewish, 
and  even  Romanist, '  —  that  the  dragon  was  only  the 
serpent  in  its  worshipped  form,  and  that  both  were  iden- 
tical with  the  Beast  and  represented  the  pagan  religion; 
that  the  Woman  flying  into  the  wilderness  before  the 
Beast  was  Early  Christianity  flying  from  pagan  persecu- 
tion, and  that  when  she  came  back,  to  St.  John's  astonish- 

1  Manage. 


ITS  THE   STORY  OF    MY    LIFE  [1869 

in.iit  she  was  seated  on  the  Beast,  i.  e.,  she  had  adopted 
all  the  pagan  attributes,  the  cross,  the  mother  and  child  — 
well-known  objects  of  worship  at  Babylon,  and  Purgatoiy 
—  a  tenet  of  pagan  Rome!  " 

"Foxhow,  Sept.  14.  My  Mother  will  have  thought  of 
this  pouring  weather  as  most  unpropitious  for  the  Lake 
Country,  but  in  reality  it  has  not  signified  very  much,  as 
each  day  it  has  cleared  for  a  few  hours,  and  the  lights  and 
shadows  have  heen  splendid.  On  Sunday  afternoon 
Edward  (Arnold)  and  I  went  up  Loughrigg.  All  the 
little  torrents  were  swollen  by  the  storms,  and  the  colours 
of  the  dying  fern  and  the  great  purple  shadows  on  Helm 
Cragg  and  I>ow  Fell  were  most  beautiful.  It  is  a  most 
picturesque  bit  of  mountain,  and  it  all  strikes  me,  as  I 
remember  it  did  in  1859,  as  more  really  beautiful  than 
anything  in  Switzerland,    though  so  contracted. 

'Yesterday  afternoon  Ave  walked  to  Grasmere,  and  I 
stayed  looking  at  the  interesting  group  of  Wordsworth 
tombs,  whilst  Edward  paid  a  visit.  Afterwards  the  lake 
looked  so  tempting,  that  Edward  rowed  me  down  it,  send- 
ing the  boat  hack  by  a  hoy.  We  landed  at  the  outlet  of 
the  Rot  ha  on  the  other  side,  and  had  a  beautiful  walk 
home  by  a  high  terrace  under  Loughrigg.  If  one  remained 
in  this  country,  one  could  not  help  becoming  fond  of 
Wordsworth,  his  descriptions  are  so  exact.  Edward  has 
repeated  many  of  his  poems  on  the  sites  to  which  they 
a]. ply.  and  they  are  quite  beautifully  pictorial.  Mrs. 
Arnold  is  very  happy  in  the  general  revival  of  interest  in 
his  poetry.  .  .  .  Nothing  can  be  more  enjoyable  and 
united  than  the  family  life  here,  the  children  and  grand- 
children coining  and  going,  and  so  many  interesting 
visitors.  Truly  dear  Mrs.  Arnold's  is  an  ideal  old  age, 
so  hedged  in  by  the  great  love  and  devotion  of  her 
descendants."  1 

1  I  never  saw  Mrs.  Arnold  again:  she  died  in  the  autumn  of  1873. 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  479 

"Dalton  Hall,  Lancashire,  Sept.  17.  I  always  enjoy 
being  here  with  the  Hornbys.  Yesterday  we  drove  in  the 
morning  to  Yealand,  a  pretty  village  so  called  from  the 
Quakers  who  colonised  it.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  to 
Levens.  It  is  a  lovely  country,  just  upon  the  outskirts  of 
the  Lake  District,  with  the  same  rich  green  meadows, 
clear  streams,  and  lanes  fringed  with  fern  and  holly.  We 
passed  through  Milnthorpe,  and  how  well  I  remembered 
your  shutting  me  up  and  making  me  learn  a  Psalm  in  the 
inn  there,  instead  of  letting  me  go  out  to  draw!  The 
country  is  very  primitive  still.  An  old  clergyman  who 
officiated  till  lately  in  the  neighbouring  church  of  Burton 
Moss  had  only  three  sermons,  one  of  which  was  laid  in 
turn  on  the  pulpit  desk  by  his  housekeeper  every  Sunday 
morning.  When  he  had  finished,  he  used  to  chuck  it 
down  to  her  out  of  the  pulpit.  One  of  these  sermons  was 
on  '  Contentment, '  —  and  contained  —  apropos  of  discon- 
tent —  the  story  of  the  Italian  nobleman  whose  tombstone 
bore  the  words,  k  I  was  well,  I  wished  to  be  better,  and 
now  I  am  here. '  " 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  this  autumn  to  see  again 
in  London  the  New  Zealand  Sir  George  Grey.  I 
remember  his  saying  how  he  wished  some  one  would 
write  a  poem  on  Pharaoh  pursuing  the  Israelites  to 
the  Red  Sea,  from  the  point  of  view  that  in  pursuing 
them  he  was  pursuing  Christianity ;  that  if  the  Israel- 
ites had  perished,  and  not  Pharaoh,  there  would  have 
been  no  Redemption. 

Journal  (The  Green  Book). 

"  Holmhurst ,  Oct.  13,  1869.  After  the  storms  of  last 
year,  this  summer  has  been  peaceful  and  quiet.  My  sweet 
Mother,  though  often  ailing,  has  been  very  gently  and 
quietly  happy.     She   seems  older,  but  age  has  with  her 


JSii  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1869 

only  its  softening  effects —  casting  a  brighter  halo  around 
her  sweet  life,  and  rendering  more  lovable  still  every 
precious  word  and  action.  .  .  .  We  are  more  than  ever  to 
each  other  now  in  everything." 

We  Left  home  in  ISC'.)  on  the  14th  of  October, 
intending  to  cross  the  Channel  at  once,  but  on  arriv- 
ing at  Folkestone,  found  such  a  raging  sea,  that  we 
retreated  to  Canterbury  to  wait  for  better  weather. 
This  enabled  us  to  pay  a  charming  visit  to  Arch- 
deacon and  Mrs.  Harrison,  who  had  been  very  familiar 
to  us  many  years  before,  when  the  Stanleys  lived  at 
Canterbury.  It  was  the  last  visit  my  Mother  ever 
paid,  and  she  greatly  enjoyed  it,  as  it  seemed  almost 
like  a  going  back  into  her  Hurstmonceaux  life,  a  revi- 
val of  the  ecclesiastical  interests  which  had  filled  her 
former  existence.  Whenever  any  subject  was  alluded 
to.  Archdeacon  Harrison,  like  Uncle  Julius,  went  to 
his  bookcase,  and  brought  down  some  volume  to 
illustrate  it.  Thus  I  remember  his  reading  to  us  in 
the  powerful  sermons  of  Bishop  Horsley.  One  of 
the  most  remarkable  was  upon  the  Syro-Phomician 
woman.  Another  is  on  the  French  Nuns,  in  defence 
of  their  institution  in  England,  saving,  with  little 
foresight,  how  unlikely  they  were  to  increase  in 
number,  and  how  very  superior  they  were  to  those 
women  "who  strip  themselves  naked  to  go  out  into 
the  world,  who  daub  their  cheeks  with  paint,  and 
plaster  their  necks  with   litharge." 

Apropos  of  the  proverb  about  Tenterden  Steeple 
and  Goodwin  Sands,  Archdeacon  Harrison  described 
how  it  was  in  allusion  to  two  things  totally  discon- 
nected.    Tenterden  Steeple  and  Goodwin  Sands  are 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  481 

very  far  apart,  and  of  course  have  no  connection 
whatever :  yet  perverse  persons  used  to  say  that 
Tenterden  Steeple  was  the  cause  of  Goodwin  Sands, 
as  money  which  ought  to  have  been  used  to  prevent 
the  accumulation  of  Goodwin  Sands  was  diverted  to 
the  building  of  Tenterden  Steeple.  The  place  where 
you  may  hear  most  about  it  is  "  Latimer's  Sermons." 
Latimer  is  inveighing  against  the  persons  who  de- 
nounced the  study  of  the  Bible  as  the  cause  of  the 
misfortunes  of  the  time,  and  says  that  they  had  as 
much  connection  as  Tenterden  Steeple  and  Goodwin 
Sands,  and  so  forth. 

To  Miss  Wright. 

"Munich,  Nov.  1,  1869.  We  made  it  four  days'  journey 
from  Paris  to  Strasbourg.  First  we  went  to  Bar-le-duc. 
I  had  longed  to  see  it,  from  a  novel  I  read  once,  and  it  is 
well  worth  while  —  the  old  town  rising  above  the  new  like 
the  old  town  of  Edinburgh  —  tall  grey  houses  pierced  with 
eight  or  ten  rows  of  windows,  a  river  with  a  most  pictu- 
resque bridge,  and  in  the  church  '  Le  Squelette  de  Bar, '  a 
wonderful  work  of  Richier,  the  famous  sculptor  of  S. 
Mihiel,  commemorating  the  Princes  of  Bar  (Henri  I.,  II., 
III.,  <fec),  sovereigns  of  whom  I  wonder  if  you  ever  heard 
before :  I  never  did. 

"  We  slept  next  at  Toul,  where  there  is  a  fine  huge  dull 
cathedral,  a  beautiful  creche  by  Ignace  Robert,  and  a  lovely 
convent  cloister  of  flamboyant  arches.  Living  at  Toul  is 
wonderfully  cheap;  our  rooms  for  three  were  only  four 
francs,  and  dinner  for  three  four  francs.1  We  wonder 
people  do  not  emigrate  to  Lorraine  instead  of  to  Australia ; 
it  would  be  far  cheaper,  and  infinitely  more  amusing.     If 

1  In   the   following   year  a  siege   by  the  Germans  made  Toul  a 
familiar  name  throughout  Europe. 
VOL.  ii.  —  31 


482 


THE    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE 


[1869 


it  had  been  warmer,  we  Bhould  have  gone  to  Domremy 
and  S.  Mihiel,  hut  we  Feared  t lie  cold.  We  were  a  day  at 
Nancy:  how  stately  it  is!  At  Strasbourg  we  found  that 
the  storks  had  left,  and  we  thought  it  the  least  interesting 
place  on  the  road,  yet  most  people  stay  only  there. 

"We    had    three    days    at    Carlsruhe,    and    found    dear 
.Madame  de  Bunsen  most  bright  and  well  and  charming, 


K 


BAR-LE-IHTC.1 


m 


with  much  to  tell  that  was  worth  hearing,  and  the  fullest 
sympathy  and  interest  in  others.  Generally  one  feels  that 
conversation  weakens  the  mind;  with  the  Bunsens  it 
never  fails  to  strengthen  it.  Madame  de  Bunsen  talked 
much  of  the  difficulties  which  had  crowded  round  her 
when  she  herself  was  to  begin  the  Memoir  of  her  husband. 
Bunsen  had  said  to  her,  k  You  must  tell  the  story  of  our 
common  life;  you  are  able  to  do  it,  only  do  not  be  afraid.' 

First,    as 

1   From  ••  Xorth-Eastern  France." 


Thus   to   her   the  work  was  a  sacred  legacy 


1869] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH  THE   MOTHER 


483 


material,  her  son  George  brought  her  Bunsen's  letters  to 
his  sister  Christiana,  which  she  had  given  to  him  and 
which  he  had  fortunately  never  given  to  his  father  for  fear 
he  should  destroy  them.  Then  she  had  written  to  Reck, 
the  early  Gottingen  friend  and  confidant  of  all  Bunsen's 
early  life,  and  had  been  refused  all  help  without  any 
explanation!    Then  Stockmar,  Brandeis,  &c,  sent  all  their 


BRIDGE    OF    BAR-LE-DUC.1 


letters ;  thus  the  work  grew.  But  there  were  no  journals, 
she  had  made  no  notes,  there  was  only  her  recollection  to 
fall  back  upon.  Madame  de  Bunsen  regretted  bitterly  the 
destruction  of  Uncle  Julius's  letters  by  his  widow,  espe- 
cially those  written  in  his  early  life  to  his  brother 
Augustus,  which  would  have  been  '  the  history  of  the 
wakening  of  a  new  phase  of  opinions. '  I  made  quantities 
of  notes  from  the  intensely  interesting  reminiscences 
Madame  de  Bunsen  poured  forth  of  her  own  life.2 

1  From  "North-Eastern  France." 

2  I  little  foresaw  then  the  immense  service  these  notes  would  be  to 
me  in  writing  the  Life  of  Baroness  Bunsen  herself  eight  years  after. 


484  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIKE  [1869 

"We  were  one  day  at  Stuttgart,  which  I  had  never 
seen,  and  was  delighted  with  —  so  handsome,  really  a 
beautiful  little  capital,  and  we  reached  Munich  in  time  to 
have  one  day  for  the  International  Exhibition  of  Paint- 
ings, which  was  well  worth  seeing  —  finer,  I  thought,  than 
OUTS.  The  German  artists  haw  surely  tar  more  originality 
than  the  artists  of  other  nations.  Three  pictures  especially 
remain  in  my  mind  —  'The  Chase  after  Luck,'  a  wdld 
horseman  with  Death  riding  behind  him  in  pursuit  of 
Luck,  a  beautiful  figure  scattering  gold  and  pearls  whilst 
floating  on  a  1  (ladder,  full  speed  across  a  bridge  which 
ends  in  a  rotten  plank  over  a  fathomless  abyss:  'The 
Cholera  in  Rome,'  the  Angel  of  Death  leading  the  Cholera 
—  a  hideous  old  woman  —  down  the  street  under  the 
Capitol  by  moonlight,  and  showing  her  the  door  she  is  to 
knock  at:  '  L'Enfant  qui  dort  a  l'ombre  du  lit  maternel, 
et  les  Anges  qui  savent  d'avance  le  sort  des  humains,  et 
baiscnt  avec  larmes  ses  petites  mains/  It  is  interesting 
to  see  how  familiar  the  German  common  people  are  with 
their  artists:  the  great  names  of  Kaulbach,  Henneberg, 
&c,  are  in  every  mouth;  how  few  of  our  common  people 
would  know  anything  of  Landseer  or  Millais !  " 

"  Vicenz/t,  Nov.  14.  The  descent  into  Italy  by  the 
Brenner  was  enchanting  —  the  exchange  of  the  snow  and 
bitter  cold  of  Germany  for  vineyards  and  fruit-gardens, 
still  glorious  in  their  orange  and  scarlet  autumnal  tints. 
\W  were  greatly  delighted  with  Botzen,  where  the  deli- 
cately wrought  cathedral  spire  against  the  faint  pink 
mountains  tipped  with  snow  is  a  lovely  subject. 

"At  Verona  we  spent  several  days,  thinking  it  more 
captivating  than  ever.  Mother  was  able  to  enjoy  the 
Giusti  gardens,  and  I  went  one  day  to  Mantua.  It  is 
wonderful.  The  station  is  two  miles  off,  and  the  drive 
into  the  town  across  an  immense  bridge  over  the  lake  is 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE  MOTHER  485 

most  striking 1  —  the  towers  all  reflected  in  the  still  waters, 
and  the  fishing-boats  sailing  in  close  under  the  houses. 
Then,  in  the  town,  the  intense  desolation  of  one  part  — 
courts  and  corridors  and  squares  all  grass-grown  and 
utterly  tenantless  —  is  a  striking  contrast  to  the  other 
part,  teeming  with  life  and  bustle.  The  Palazzo  del  Te 
is  marvellous  —  only  one  story  high,  gigantic  rooms 
covered  with  grand  frescoes  opening  on  sunny  lawns  with 
picturesque  decaying  avenues.     I  wandered  over  the  vast 


MANTUA.1 


ducal  palace  with  three  American  ladies,  who  '  guessed ' 
that  '  when  Mantua  was  in  its  prime,  it  must  have  been 
rather  an  elegant  city.'" 

"  Hotel  de  Londres,  Pisa,  Dec.  7 .  From  Verona  we  went 
to  Vicenza,  where  we  stayed  nearly  a  week  in  the  old- 
fashioned  palazzo  which  is  now  turned  into  the  Hotel  de 
la  Ville.  We  found  some  old  Roman  acquaintances  there 
—  Mrs.  Kuper  and  her  daughter,  great  Italian  travellers, 
famous   linguists,    and   excessively  amusing   companions. 

1  The  approach  to  Mantua  has  since  been  altered,  and  is  now 
commonplace. 

2  From  "Northern  Italy." 


isi; 


THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE 


[1869 


With  them  I  went  many  delightful  walks  in  the  lovely 
country  near  Vieenza,  which  is  quite  the  ideal  Italy  one 
reads  so  much  of  and  so  seldom  sees  —  splendid  mountain 
background  with  snowy  peaks;  nearer  hills  golden  with 
decaying  chestnuts  and  crimson  with  falling  vine-leaves; 
old  shrines  and  churches  half  hidden  in  clematis  and  vine, 
and  a  most    interesting  town  with  a  fine  picture-gallery  — 


*-■ 


VICENZA.1 


Mnntagna  (not  Mantegna)  being  the  great  master.  I  took 
to  the  plan  of  trying  to  make  ever  so  slight  sketches  from 
pictures,  and  find  them,  bad  as  they  are,  far  more  interest- 
ing than  photographs.  We  had  permission  to  walk  in  the 
lovely  gardens  of  the  old  Marchese  Salvi,  close  to  the 
hotel,  a  great  pleasure  to  the  Mother. 

"The  Kupers  preceded  us  to  Padua  and  engaged  com- 
fortable rooms  for  us  there,  to  which  we  followed.  Here 
was  another  kind  of  interest  in  the  quaint  churches;  the 
Prato  della  Valle  with  its  stone  population;  the  University, 

1  From  "  Northern  Italy." 


1869] 


LAST    YEARS   WITH   THE  MOTHER 


487 


where  we  went  to  hear  a  lecture  and  saw  the  3000  students 
assembled ;  and  the  society  of  some  pleasant  young  Paduans 
—  M.  Fava  and  Count  Battistino  Medine,  introduced  by 
the  Kupers.  But  alas!  Mother  became  very  unwell 
indeed  during  the  latter  part  of  our  stay  at  Padua,  and  I 
was  made  very  unhappy  by  her  constant  cough  and  inabil- 
ity to  take  food.     So  I  was  thankful  when  we  were  able 


VICENZA    FROM    MONTE    BERICO. 


to  come  on  to  this  comfortable  hotel,  where  Flora  and  the 
faithful  Victoire  are  incessant  in  their  attentions.  I  am 
still  anxious  about  my  sweet  Mother,  who  is  very  ailing 
and  unable  to  go  out;  otherwise  I  always  like  staying  at 
Pisa,  with  its  clean  quiet  streets  and  the  interest  of  the 
Campo  Santo,  so  full  of  beautiful  relics  and  memories. 
Many  delightful  hours  have  I  spent  there,  and  what  a 
school  of  art  and  histor}^  it  is!  And  then  the  Spina  is 
always  so  graceful  and  striking  against  the  crimson  sunset 

1  From  "  Northern  Italy." 


488 


THE  STORY.    OF   MY   LIFE 


[1809 


which  turns  the  muddy  A.rno  into  a  river  of  lire.1  Then, 
only  think,  I  have  made  a  new  friend,  and,  strange  to  say, 
an  American,  with  the  uninteresting  name  of  Robert 
Peabody.  I  do  not  know  when,  if  ever,  I  have  seen  any 
one  I  like  so  much  —  so  clever,  so  natural,  so  unworldly, 
so  large-minded,    so  good-looking.     The    Mother  thinks 


i 


ir— "°6 


THE  VRATO  DELLA  VALLE,  PADUA.'2 


my  sadden  friendships  most  fantastic,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
about  this  one ;  and  as  Mother  was  much  better  last  week, 
i  went  away  with  him  for  four  days  to  Siena  and  S.  Gemi- 
gnano,  and  we  were  entirely  happy  together,  though  it 
poured  cats  and  dogs  the  whole  time,  and  thundered  and 
lightened  as  if  the  skies  were  coming  down.  I  do  not  think 
you  have  ever  been  half  excited  enough  about  Siena:  it 
seems  to  me  such  a  sublime  place  —  the  way  it  rises  out  of 

1  The  Spina  has  since  been  rebuilt  and  spoilt  by  the  Sardinian 
Government. 

2  Prom  "Northern  Italy." 


1869] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


489 


that  desolate  earthquake-riven  country,  the  cathedral  so 
grandly  solemn,  and  such  a  world  of  interest  circling  around 
all  the  scenes  in  S.  Catherine's  life.  I  tried  to  draw  the 
famous  Sodoma,  and  longed  to  stay  months,  but  we  only 
did  stay  two  days,  and  then  away  we  went  in  a  baroccino 
over  the  hills  to  S.  Gemignano.     You  must  never  come  to 


SIENA.1 


Italy  again  without  going  there :  I  am  beginning  now  to 
fancy  that  no  one  has  seen  Italy  who  has  missed  S. 
Gemignano.  It  is  a  perfect  sanctuary  of  art,  the  smallest 
town  ever  seen,  but  with  thirteen  tall  mediaeval  towers  in 
fullest  preservation,  crowning  the  top  of  the  little  hill  like 
a  huge  group  of  ninepins,  and  with  churches  covered  with 
frescoes  by  Filippo  and  Simone  Memmi,  Beccafumi, 
Ghirlandajo,  and  all  that  wonderful  school.  The  great 
saint  of  the  place  is  Santa  Fina  —  a  poor  girl,  who  had  a 
spine  complaint,    lay  for  years  on  a  backboard,   bore  her 

1  From  "  Central  Italy.' 


4  90 


THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE 


[1869 


intense  sufferings  with  great  patience,  and  finally  died  a 
most  peaceful  and  holy  death — perhaps  the  one  Roman 
Catholic  saint  whose  stoiy  is  unspoilt  by  miracles.  I  first 
heard  about  her  from   Lady  Waterford.   and  had  always 


A 


41% 


?fc?S 


3.    GKMIGNANO.1 


longed  to  see  her  native  place.  The  Ghirlandajo  fresco 
of  her  death  is  most  touching  and  real,  portraying  the 
bare  cottage  room,  the  hard-featured  Tuscan  nurse,  the 
sick  girl  on  her  backboard  —  all  like  a  scene  in  a  Tuscan 
cottage  now;  and.  above,  the  angels  floating  away  with 
their  newly-gained  sister.     But  the  people  of  S.  Gemignano 

1  From  "  Central  Italy." 


1869]  LAST  YEARS  WITH   THE   MOTHER  491 

forgot  the  picture  when  they  quaintly  told  us  that  '  all  the 
little  flowers  and  shrubs  were  so  enchanted  with  her 
exemplary  patience,  that  they  began  to  sprout  around  her 
bed,  and  by  her  twenty-eighth  year  (when  she  died)  she 
was  lying  in  quite  a  garden  of  beautiful  flowers. '  " 

In  recollection  I  feel  grateful  for  this  short  absence 
from  my  Mother  with  Robert  Peabody,  as  it  procured 
for  me  my  last  tiny  letter  from  her  —  cheerful  and  ten- 
der as  all  her  letters  were  now.  But  after  the  begin- 
ning of  December  I  seldom  left  her,  and  the  next  six 
weeks  were  spent  entirely  in  her  room,  in  watching 
and  cheering  her  through  a  time  of  great  suffering, 
whilst  the  rain  never  ceased  to  fall  in  torrents.  I 
was  often  able  to  amuse  her  with  stories  of  my 
companions  at  the  table  dlwte. 

Journal. 

"  Pisa,  Nov.  27.  The  chief  interest  here  has  been  from 
travellers  in  the  hotel  —  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D.,  kind,  vulgar 
people,  who  have  seldom  been  out  of  London,  except  to 
Paris,  and  who  do  not  speak  a  word  of  any  foreign  lan- 
guage ;  at  least  Mr.  D.  does  speak  certain  words,  and  uses 
them  all  together  to  all  the  foreigners  he  meets,  without 
any  regard  to  their  meaning  —  '  Lait  pain  the"  bongjour 
toodyswee ; '  —  a  haughty  pretty  Polish  girl  and  her  gov- 
erness, and  a  clever  pretty  Polish  Comtesse  de  M.  Avith 
her  young  husband.  The  last  lady  keeps  the  whole  table 
alive  with  her  stories,  told  with  the  utmost  naivete,  and  in 
the  prettiest  manner. 

" t  I  will  tell  you  about  my  going  to  Ferrara.  When  I 
arrived  I  was  gasping  with  hunger.  We  drove  up  to  the 
hotel.  "  Could  we  have  any  dinner  ?  "  —  "  J 'en  suis  de'sole', 
Madame,   but  the  cook  is  out."     We  drove  to  another. 


492  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1809 

"Could  we  have  any  dinner?"  —  "J'en  suis  an  desespoir, 
Madame,  mais  il  n'v  a  pas  de  feu."  We  drove  on. 
Another  hotel.  We  ordered  our  dinner,  and  when  it  was 
put  on  the  table,  it  was  so  dreadful,  I  gave  one  look  and 
ran  ou1  of  the  room.  And  then  the  sights  of  Ferrara! 
We  went  to  the  castle.  It  was  horrible  —  a  ghastly  dungeon 
with  bare  walls  and  chains  and  one  glimmering  ray  of 
light.  "  This."  said  the  guide,  "  was  the  dungeon  of  Ugo 
and  Parisina;  here  they  suffered  and  here  they  died." 
Oh,  mon  Dieu  quel  horreur!  I  wished  to  go  somewhere 
else.  They  took  me  to  a  convent —  again  a  ghastly  room, 
a  fearful  prison.  "  This,  Madame,  was  the  prison  of 
Tasso*'  -encore  des  horreurs!  Oh,  then  I  would  have  a 
carriage.  1  asked  the  driver  where  he  would  take  me. 
"Ma,  Signora,  al  Campo  Santo."  Ah!  quelle  triste 
ville  la  ville  de  Farrare !  But  when  we  got  to  Bologna, 
and  1  asked  where  we  should  go,  c'e'tait  tou jours  la  meme 
chose  -  -  tou  jours  au  Campo  Santo,  and  at  Pisa  here,  it  is 
encore  au  Campo  Santo! 

'  At  Ferrara,  in  the  prison  of  Tasso,  they  show  on  the 
wall  an  ode  written  by  Lord  Byron.  The  rest  of  the  wall 
is  white,  but  the  place  where  the  ode  is  written  is  brown. 
"Why,"  I  asked,  "is  that  part  of  the  wall  brown?"  — 
"  Ah!  "  said  the  custode,  "that  is  the  sweat  of  the  English. 
All  the  English  will  touch  the  writing  of  their  compatriot, 
and  then  they  perspire  from  their  hot  fingers,  and  thus  it 
is  brown."  In  the  same  room  is  a  great  hole;  the  wall 
has  crumbled  away;  it  is  gone,  the  room  will  fall.  "And 
what  is  that?"  T  asked.  "Ah!  that  is  made  by  the  Eng- 
lish, who  all  insist  upon  taking  away  a  morsel  of  the 
prison  of  Tasso."  And  thus  it  was  at  Verona;  when  I 
saw  Juliet's  tomb,  they  told  me  it  was  only  an  imitation; 
for  as  for  the  real  one,  the  English  ladies  had  chopped  it 
all  up  and  were  wearing  it  in  bracelets.  Oh,  comme  c'est 
ennuyanl  de  voyager,  il  faut  tourner  la  tete  pour  regarder 
les  tableaux,  et  on  casse  le  cou  par  ici :  il  faut  regarder 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  493 

par  la  fenetre  pour  voir  la  vue,  et  on  casse  le  cou  par  la: 
il  faut  regarder  au  plafond  pour  voir  les  fresques,  et  on 
casse  le  cou  de  tous  les  cote's  a  la  fois.  And  then  the 
journey  to  Switzerland!  Mais  aller  en  Suisse,  jamais! 
What  do  you  want  to  see  mountains  for?  to  admire  their 
height?  Ah!  then  how  stupid  to  go  up!  Why,  of  course 
they  become  shorter  every  step  you  go.  No,  you  should 
go  into  the  depths  to  see  the  mountains.  Les  plaines  pour 
moi !  .  .  .  Jusqu'a  mon  mariage  je  ne  suis  jamais  sortie 
a  pied,  mais  depuis  mon  mariage  je  suis  devenue  .  .  . 
raisonnable. ' 

"  I  asked  the  Polish  ladies  if  the  language  they  spoke 
was  Russian.  It  Avas  like  throwing  a  bomb  into  the  camp. 
They  detest  the  Russians,  and  would  not  speak  to  a 
pleasant  Countess  Boranoff,  nee  Wasilikoff,  who  has  been 
staying  here.  .  .  .  But  of  all  my  Pisan  acquaintance  there 
is  none  like  Robert  Peabody!  He  has  been  at  an  atelier 
in  Paris  for  two  years  studying  as  an  architect,  and  had  a 
charming  life  there  with  his  fellow-students,  making  walk- 
ing tours  in  France,  &c.  When  he  first  went  to  Paris,  he 
did  not  know  a  word  of  French,  and  made  out  his  washing 
bills  by  drawing  little  pictures,  socks,  shirts,  drawers,  &c, 
and  the  washerwoman  put  the  prices  opposite  them." 

On  December  10  occurred  the  terrible  floods  of 
the  Arno. 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"Pisa,  Dcr.  11,  1869.  How  little  you  will  be  able  to 
imagine  all  we  have  been  going  through  in  the  last  twent}'- 
four  hours !  We  have  had  a  number  of  adventures  in  our 
different  travels,  but  this  is  by  far  the  worst  that  has  ever 
befallen  us.     Now  I  must  tell  you  our  story  consecutively. 

"  For  the  last  three  days  the  Mother  has  been  very  ill. 
On  Thursday  she  had  an  attack  of  fainting,  and  seemed 
likely  to  fall  into  one  of  her  long  many  days'  sleeps.   .   .   . 


4(J4  THE   STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1869 

The  rain  continued  day  and  night  in  torrents.  Yesterday 
made  it  three  weeks  since  we  arrived,  and  in  that  time  there 
had  been  only  two  days  in  which  the  rain  had  not  been  cease- 
|.  98.  The  Arno  was  much  swollen:  I  saw  it  on  Thursday, 
very  curious,  up  to  the  top  of  the  arches  of  the  bridges. 

"Yesterday,  Friday,  Madame  Victoire  came  to  dine 
with  Lea.  Afterwards  she  came  up  to  see  us  as  usual, 
and  then  Flora's  children  came  to  be  shown  pictures.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  half-past  three  when  they  took 
leave  of  us.  Lea  went  with  them  down  the  passage. 
Soon  she  came  back  saying  that  little  Anna  said  there  was 
•such  an  odd  water  coming  down  the  street,  would  I 
come  and  see,'  and  from  the  passage  window  I  saw  a 
volume  of  muddy  water  slowly  pouring  down  the  street, 
not  from  the  Arno,  but  from  towards  the  railway  station, 
the  part  of  the  street  towards  Lung'  Arno  (our  street  ends 
at  the  Spina  Chapel)  remaining  quite  dry.  The  children 
were  delighted  and  clapped  their  hands.  I  meant  to  go 
and  see  the  water  nearer,  but  before  I  could  reach  the  main 
entrance,  in  half  a  minute  the  great  heavy  waves  of  the 
yellow  flood  were  pouring  into  the  courtyard  and  stealing 
into  the  entrance  hall.1 

t4It  was  as  suddenly  as  that  it  came  upon  us. 

"  The  scene  for  the  next  half-hour  baffles  all  description. 
Flora  and  her  mother  stood  on  the  principal  staircase  cry- 
ing and  wringing  their  hands:  the  servants  rushed  about 
in  distraction:  Lea,  pale  as  ashes,  thought  and  cried  that 
our  last  moment  was  come ;  and  all  the  time  the  heavy 
yellow  waters  rose  and  rose,  covering  first  the  wheels  of 
the  omnibus,  the  vases,  the  statues  in  the  garden,  then  up 
high  into  the  trees.  Inside,  the  carpets  were  rising  and 
swaying  on  the  water,  and  in  five  minutes  the  large  pieces 
of  furniture  were  beginning  to  crash  against  each  other. 

1  The  great  dikes  of  the  Arno  had  burst  a  long  way  off,  so  that 
the  flood  came  upon  us  from  behind.     Only  the  eastern  bank  of  the 

Arno  \v;ts  flooded 


1869] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


495 


I  had  rushed  at  the  first  alarm  to  the  garde-meuble,  and 
(how  I  did  it  I  cannot  imagine)  dragged  our  great  box  to 
the  stairs :  it  was  the  only  piece  of  luggage  saved  from  the 
ground-floor.  Then  I  rushed  to  the  salle-h-manger,  and 
shouting  to  Flora  to  save  the  money  in  her  bureau,  swept 
all  the  silver  laid  out  for  dinner  into  a  tablecloth,  and  got 


THE    HOTEL    DE    LONDRES    DURING    THE    FLOOD. 


it  safe  off.  From  that  moment  it  was  a  sauve-qui-peut.  1 
handed  down  rows  of  teapots,  jugs,  sugar-basins,  &c,  to 
the  maids,  who  carried  them  away  in  lapfuls :  in  this  way 
also  we  saved  all  the  glass,  but  before  we  could  begin 
upon  the  china,  the  water  was  up  to  our  waists  and  we 
were  obliged  to  retreat,  carrying  off  the  tea-urns  as  a  last 
spoil.  The  whole  family,  with  Amabiie  and  all  the  old 
servants,  were  now  down  in  the  water,  but  a  great  deal  of 
time  was  wasted  in  the  belief  that  a  poor  half-witted 
Russian  lady  was  locked  into  her  room  and  drowning,  and 


196  THE   STORY   OF  MY    LIFE  [1869 

in  breaking  open  the  door;  but  when  at  last  a  panel  of  the 
door  was  dashed  in,  the  room  was  found  full  of  water  and 
all  its  contents  swimming  about,  but  the  lady  was  .  .  . 
■  'unc  out   lor  a   walk ! 

'"  As  I  was  coming  in  from  the  lower  rooms  to  the  stair- 
case with  a  load  of  looking-glasses,  a  boat  crashed  in  at 
the  principal  entrance,  bringing  home  the  poor  lady  and 
two  other  English,  who  had  been  caught  by  the  flood  at 
the  end  of  the  street,  and  had  been  for  some  time  in  the 
greatest  peril:  the  boatmen  having  declined  to  bring  them 
the  few  necessary  steps  until  they  had  been  paid  twenty 
francs,  and  then  having  refused  altogether  to  bring  a  poor 
Italian  who  had  no  money  to  give  them.  At  this  moment 
Madame  Vietoire  insisted  on  taking  the  opportunity  of  the 
boat  to  return  to  her  own  house.  It  was  a  dreadful  scene, 
all  the  women  in  the  house  crying  and  imploring  her  to 
stay,  but  she  insisted  on  embarking.  She  did  not  arrive 
without  hairbreadth  escapes.  When  she  reached  her  own 
house,  the  current  was  so  strong,  and  the  boat  was  dashed 
so  violently  against  the  walls,  that  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  be  landed;  but  the  flood  was  less  violent  beneath 
her  larger  house  which  is  let  to  the  Marchese  Guadagna, 
from  which  sheets  were  let  down  from  the  upper  windows, 
and  she  was  fastened  to  them  and  raised:  but  when  she 
reached  the  grille  of  the  first-floor  windows,  and  was  hang- 
ing half-way,  the  current  carried  away  the  boat,  and  at 
the  same  moment  the  great  wall  opposite  S.  Antonio  fell 
with  an  awful  crash.  However,  the  Guadagna  family 
held  tight  to  the  sheets,  and  Madame  Vietoire  was  landed 
at  last,  though  she  fell  insensible  on  the  floor  Avhen  she 
entered  the  window. 

"The  walls  were  now  falling  in  every  direction,  with  a 

dull  n>ar  into  the  yellow  waters.     The  noise  was  dreadful 

-  the  cries  of  the  drowning  animals,  the  shrieks  of  the 

women,  especially  of  a  mother  whose  children  were  in  the 

country,  wringing  her  hands  at  the  window  of  an  opposite 


1869]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  497 

house.  The  water  in  our  house  was  rising  so  rapidly  that 
it  was  impossible  to  remain  longer  on  the  side  towards 
the  principal  staircase,  and  we  fled  to  the  other  end,  where 
Pilotte,  a  poor  boy  in  the  service,  lay  dangerously  ill,  but 
was  obliged  to  get  up  from  his  bed,  and,  though  quite 
blind  from  ophthalmia,  was  far  more  useful  than  any  one 
else.  Since  her  mother  left,  Flora  had  been  far  too  dis- 
tracted to  think  of  anything;  still  we  saved  an  immense 
number  of  things,  and  I  was  able  to  cut  down  pictures, 
&c,  floating  on  a  sofa  as  if  it  were  a  boat.  The  great 
difficulty  in  reaching  the  things  was  always  from  the 
carpet  rising,  and  making  it  almost  impossible  to  get  out 
of  the  room  again.  The  last  thing  I  carried  off  was  the 
'  Travellers'  Book  ' !  It  was  about  half-past  5  p.  m.  when 
we  were  obliged  to  come  out  of  the  water,  which  was  then 
terribly  cold  and  above  the  waist. 

"Meantime  the  scene  in  the  street  was  terrible.  The 
missing  children  of  the  woman  opposite  were  brought  back 
in  a  boat  and  drawn  up  in  sheets ;  and  the  street,  now  a 
deep  river,  was  crowded  with  boats,  torches  flashing  on 
the  water,  and  lights  gleaming  in  every  window.  All 
the  thirty  poor  hens  in  the  hen-house  at  the  end  of  the 
balcony  were  making  a  terrible  noise  as  they  were  slowly 
drowned ;  the  ducks  and  pigeons  were  drowned  too,  I  sup- 
pose, being  too  frightened  to  escape,  and  many  floated 
dead  past  the  window.  The  garden  was  covered  with 
cushions,  chairs,  tables,  and  ladies'  dresses,  which  had 
been  washed  out  of  the  lower  windows.  There  was  great 
fear  that  the  omnibus  horse  and  driver  were  drowned, 
and  the  Limosins  were  crying  dreadfully  about  it;  but 
the  man  was  drawn  up  late  at  night  from  a  boat,  Avhose 
crew  had  discovered  him  on  the  top  of  a  wall,  and  at 
present  the  horse  exists  also,  having  taken  refuge  on  the 
terrace  you  will  remember  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  where 
it  is  partially  above  water.      The  street  was  covered  with 

furniture,  great  carved  wardrobes  being  whirled  down  to 
vol.  ii.  —  32 


THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1869 

the  Arno  like  straws.     The  cries  of  the  drowning  animals 
were  quite  human. 

"AD  this  time  my  poor  sweet  Mother  had  been  lying 
perfectly  still  and  patient,  but  about  0  i*.  m.,  as  the  water 
had  reached  the  highest  step  of  the  lower  staircase  and 
was  still  mounting,  we  had  our  luggage  carried  up  to  the 
attics,  secured  a  tew  valuables  in  case  of  sudden  flight  (as 
no  boat  would  have  taken  luggage),  and  began  to  get 
Mother  dressed.  There  was  no  immediate  danger,  but  if 
another  embankment  broke,  there  might  be  at  any  moment, 
and  it  was  well  to  be  prepared.  Night  closed  in  terribly 
—  pouring  rain  again,  a  perfectly  black  sky,  and  -waters 
swelling  round  the  house:  every  now  and  then  the  dull 
thud  of  some  falling  building,  and,  from  beneath,  the 
perpetual  crash  of  the  furniture  and  floors  breaking  up  in 
the  lower  rooms.  Mother  lay  down  dressed,  most  of  the 
visitors  and  I  walked  the  passages  and  watched  the  danger- 
marks  made  above  water  on  the  staircase,  and  tried  to 
com  tort  the  unhappy  family,  in  what,  I  fear,  is  their  total 
ruin.  It  seemed  as  if  daylight  would  never  come,  but  at 
6  a.  m.  the  water  was  certainly  an  inch  lower. 

"It  was  strange  to  return  to  daylight  in  our  besieged 
fortress.  There  had  been  no  time  to  save  food,  but  there 
was  one  loaf  and  a  little  cheese,  which  were  dealt  out  in 
equal  rations,  and  we  captured  the  drowned  hens  as  the 
aviary  broke  up,  and  are  going  to  boil  one  of  them  down 
in  a  tiny  saucepan,  the  only  cooking  utensil  saved.  Every 
one  has  to  economise  the  water  in  their  jugs  (no  chance 
of  any  other),  and  most  of  all  their  candles.  .  .  .  How 
we  are  ever  to  be  delivered  I  cannot  imagine.  The  rail- 
ways to  Leghorn,  Spezia,  and  Florence  must  all  be  under 
water." 

"Dec.  14.  It  seems  so  long  now  since  the  inundation 
began  and  we  were  cut  off  from  every  one:  it  is  impossible 
to  think  of  it  as  only  three  days. 


1869] 


LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER. 


499 


"  Nothing  can  be  more  dreadful  than  the  utter  neglect 
of  the  new  Government  and  of  the  mimic ipality  here. 
They  were  fully  warned  as  to  what  would  result  if  Pisa 
was  not  protected  from  the  Arno,  but  they  took  no  heed, 
and  ever  since  the  dykes  broke  they  have  given  no  help, 
never  even  consenting  to  have  the  main  drains    opened, 


S.    ANTONIO,    PISA,    DURING    THE    FLOOD. 


which  keeps  us  still  flooded,  refusing  to  publish  lists  of  the 
drowned,  and  giving  the  large  sums  sent  for  distribution 
in  charity  into  the  hands  of  the  students,  who  follow  one 
another,  giving  indiscriminately  to  the  same  persons, 
whilst  others  are  starving.  On  Saturday  night  there 
ceased  to  be  any  immediate  alarm :  the  fear  was  that  the 
Arno  might  break  though  at  the  Spina,  which  still  stands, 
and  which,  being  so  much  nearer,  would  be  far  more 
serious  to  us.  The  old  bridge  is  destroyed.  All  through 
that  night  the   Vicomte  de  Vauriol  and  the  men   of  the 


500  THE  STORY  OF  MY   LIFE  [18G9 

house  were  obliged  to  watch  on  the  balconies  with  loaded 
pistols,  to  defend  their  property  floating  in  the  garden  from 
the  large  bands  of  robbers  who  came  in  boats  to  plunder, 
Looking  sufficiently  alarming  by  the  light  of  their  great 
torches.  The  whole  trousseau  of  the  Vicomtesse  is  lost, 
and  her  maid  has  4000  francs  in  her  box,  which  can  still 
be  seen  floating  open.  .  .  .  But  the  waters  are  slowly 
going  down.  Many  bodies  have  been  found,  but  there  are 
still  maii\  more  beneath  the  mud.  In  the  lower  rooms  of 
this  house  the  mud  is  a  yard  deep,  and  most  horrid  in 
quality,  and  the  smell  of  course  dreadful.  I  spend  much 
of  my  time  at  the  window  in  hooking  up  various  objects 
with  a  long  iron  bed-rod  —  bits  of  silver,  teacups,  even 
books  —  in  a  state  of  pulp." 

"Dec.  10.  My  bulletin  is  rather  a  melancholy  one,  for 
my  poor  Mother  has  been  constantly  in  bed  since  the 
inundation,  and  cannot  now  turn  or  move  her  left  side  at 
all.  ...  I  have  also  been  very  ill  myself,  with  no  sleep 
lor  many  days,  and  agonies  of  neuralgia  from  long 
exposure  in  the  water.  .  .  .  However,  I  get  on  tolerably, 
ami  have  plenty  to  take  off  my  thoughts  from  my  own 
pain  in  attending  to  Mother  and  doing  what  I  can  for  the 
poor  Limosins.  ...  In  the  quarter  near  this  seventy 
bodies  have  been  found  in  the  mud,  and  as  the  Govern- 
ment suppresses  the  number  and  buries  them  all  imme- 
diately, there  are  probably  many  more.  Our  friends  at 
Rome  have  been  greatly  alarmed  about  us." 

"Dec  '2~i.  Mother  has  been  up  in  a  chair  for  a  few 
hours  daily,  but  cannot  yet  be  dressed.  The  wTeather  is 
horrible,  torrents  of  rain  night  and  day  —  quite  ceaseless, 
and  mingled  with  snow,  thunder,  and  lightning.  It  is  so 
dart  even  at  midday,  that  Mother  can  see  to  do  nothing, 
ami  I  very  little.  The  mud  and  smell  would  prevent  our 
going  out  if  it  were   otherwise  possible.     It   has   indeed 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  501 

been  a  dismal  three  months,  which  we  have  all  three 
passed  entirely  in  the  sick-room,  except  the  four  days  I 
was  away.  .  .  .  Still  the  dear  Mother  says  k  we  shall  have 
time  to  recount  our  miseries  in  heaven  when  they  are 
over;  let  us  only  recount  our  mercies  now.' 

To  Miss  Wright. 

"33  Via  Gregoriana,  Home,  Jan.  19,  1870.  You  will 
have  heard  from  others  of  our  misfortunes  at  Pisa,  of 
Mother's  terrible  illness,  and  my  wearing  pains,  and  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  our  awful  floods,  the  Arno  bursting 
its  banks  and  overwhelming  the  unhappy  town  with  its 
mud-laden  waves.  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  utter 
horror  of  those  three  days  and  nights  —  the  rushing  water 
(waves  like  the  sea)  lifting  the  carpets  and  dashing  the 
large  pieces  of  furniture  into  bits  like  so  many  chips,  — the 
anxious  night-watchings  of  the  water  stealthily  advancing 
up  step  after  step  of  the  staircase,  —  the  view  from  the 
upper  corridor  windows  of  the  street  with  its  rushing 
tourbillon  of  waters,  carrying  drowning  animals,  beds, 
cabinets,  gates,  &c.  along  in  a  hideous  confusion;  —  from 
our  windows  of  the  garden  one  maze  of  waters  afloat  with 
chairs,  tables,  open  boxes,  china,  and  drowned  creatures; 
—  the  sound  of  the  falling  walls  heavily  gliding  into  the 
water,  and  the  cries  of  the  drowning  and  their  relations. 
And  then,  in  the  hotel,  the  life  was  so  strange,  the  limited 
rations  of  food  and  of  water  from  the  washing  jugs,  and 
the  necessity  for  rousing  oneself  to  constant  action,  and 
far  more  than  mere  cheerfulness,  in  order  to  prevent  the 
poor  people  of  the  hotel  from  sinking  into  absolute 
despair. 

'When  the  real  danger  to  life  once  subsided  and  the 
poor  drowned  people  had  been  carried  away  to  their 
graves,  and  the  water  had  changed  into  mud,  it  was  a 
strange  existence,  and  we  had  still  six  weeks  in  the  chilled 
house  with  its  wet  walls,  and  an  impossibility  of  going  out 


502  THE  STORY  OF  -MY   LIFE  [1870 

or  having  change-  However,  there  is  a  bright  side  to 
everything,  and  the  utter  isolation  was  not  unpleasant  to 
me.  I  got  through  no  end  of  writing  work,  having  plenty 
also  to  do  in  attending  on  my  poor  Mother;  and  you  know 
how  I  can  never  sufficiently  drink  in  the  blessedness  of 
her  sweet  c< nnpaiiioiisliip,  and  how  entirely  the  very  fact 
of  her  existence  makes  sunshine  in  my  life,  wherever  it  is. 

"All  the  time  of  our  incarceration  I  have  employed  in 
writing  from  the  notes  of  our  many  Roman  winters,  which 
were  saved  in  our  luggage,  and  which  have  been  our  only 
material  of  employment.  It  seems  as  if  '  Walks  in  Rome  ' 
would  some  clay  grow  into  a  book.  Mother  thinks  it 
presumptuous,  but  I  assure  her  that  though  of  course  it 
will  be  full  of  faults,  no  book  would  ever  be  printed  if 
perfection  were  waited  for.  And  I  really  do  know  much 
more  about  the  subject  than  most  people,  though  of  course 
not  half  as  much  as  I  ought  to  know. 

"One  day  I  was  away  at  Florence,  where  I  saw  Lady 
Anne  S.  Giorgio  and  many  other  friends  in  a  very  short 
time.     How  bright  and  busy  it  looked  after  Pisa. 

"Last  week  Pisa  devoted  itself,  or  rather  its  priests,  to 
intense  Madonna-worship,  because,  owing  to  her  image, 
carved  by  St.  Luke,  the  flood  was  no  worse.  Her  seven 
petticoats,  unremoved  for  years,  were  taken  off  one  by  one 
and  exchanged  for  new,  and  this  delicious  event  was  cele- 
brated by  tiring  of  cannon,  processions,  and  illuminations 
all  over  the  town.  In  the  midst,  the  Arno  displayed 
its  disapproval  by  rising  again  violently  and  suddenly; 
the  utmost  consternation  ensued;  the  population  sat  up, 
doors  were  walled  up,  the  doll-worshippers  were  driven 
out  of  the  cathedral  (which  lies  very  low)  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet  by  the  I'.ersaglieri  tinder  General  Bixio.  To 
us,  the  great  result  of  the  fresh  fright  was.  that  the  Mother 
suddenly  rose  from  her  bed,  and  declaring  that  she  could 
ma  stay  to  endure  another  inundation,  dressed,  and  we  all 
set  off  last  Wednesday  morning,  and  arrived  at  midnight 


1870]  LAST   YEARS    WITH   THE   MOTHER  503 

after  a  prosperous   journey,    though  the  floods  were  cer- 
tainly frightful  up  to  the  very  walls  of  Rome. 

"  Oh,  how  glad  we  were  to  get  here  —  to  feel  that  after 
all  the  troubles  of  the  last  few  months  we  were  safe  in  the 
beloved,  the  homelike  city.  It  is  now  only  that  I  realise 
what  a  time  of  tension  our  stay  at  Pisa  has  been.  We 
breathe  quietly.  Even  the  calm  placid  Mother  feels  the 
relief  of  not  having  to  start  up  at  every  sound  and  wonder 
whether  '  1'  Arno  e  sbordato.' 

"  I  always  feel  as  if  a  special  Providence  watched  over 
us  in  respect  of  lodgings.  It  has  certainly  been  so  this  time, 
as  we  could  never  have  hoped,  arriving  so  late,  to  obtain 
this  charming  apartment,  with  full  sun,  glorious  view,  and 
all  else  we  can  wish.  You  can  fancy  us,  with  all  our  own 
pictures  and  books,  the  Mother  in  her  chair,  the  son  at  his 
drawing-table,  and  Lea  coming  in  and  out. 

"  But  on  Friday  we  had  a  terrible  catastrophe.  In  the 
evening  at  the  hotel  the  poor  Mother  fell  violently  upon 
her  head  on  the  hard  stone  floor  and  was  dreadfully  hurt. 
You  will  imagine  my  terror,  having  gone  out  at  8  p.  M., 
to  find  every  one  in  confusion  on  my  return,  that  Dr. 
Winslow  had  been  sent  for,  and  that  I  had  been  searched 
for  everywhere.  For  some  hours  the  Mother  was  quite 
unconscious,  and  she  can  still  see  nothing,  and  I  am  afraid 
it  will  be  some  days  before  any  sight  is  restored ;  but  all 
is  going  on  well,  and  I  am  most  thankful  to  have  been 
able  to  move  her  to  her  own  house. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  am  going  to  renounce  the  pomps  and 
vanities  of  the  world  this  winter  and  not  '  go  out '  at  all. 
I  have  often  found  that  it  has  rather  fatigued  Mother  even 
to  hear  of  my  going  out,  and  it  is  far  easier  to  give  a 
thing  up  altogether  than  partially.  In  the  daytime  I  can 
see  people.  My  American  friend  Robert  Peabody  is  here, 
and  the  most  delightful  companion,  and  there  are  endless 
young  men  artists,  quite  a  colony,  and  of  the  pleasantest 
description. 


504  THE   STORY  OF   MY  LIFE  [1870 

"The  weather  is  very  fine,  but  very  cold.  I  went 
i. >-il;i\  bo  St.  Peter's  (il  Giorno  della  Scatola),  and  the 
procession  was  certainly  magnificent.  The  Bishop  who 
attracts  most  attention  is  Monsignor  Dupanloup  of 
Orleans,  who  at  first  displayed  great  courage  in  opposing 
the  [nfallibility  doctrine,  lmt  is  allowing  his  opposition  to 
be  swamped.  .Many  of  the  Bishops  are  most  extraordinary 
—  such  a  variety  of  forms  and  colours  in  costume,  blue 
and  violet  veils,  green  robes  and  hate,  and  black  caps  with 
gold  knobs  like  the  little  Shems  and  Hams  in  Noah's  Ark. 
Bui  the  central  figure  of  Pins  IX.  looks  more  than  ever 
solemn  and  impressive,  the  man  so  lost  in  his  intense 
feeling  of  the  office,  that  it  is  impossible  to  associate  him, 
mentally,  with  the  Council  and  its  blasphemies.  Of  the 
Council  itself  we  hear  nothing,  and  there  is  little  general 
interest  about  it.  Lord  Houghton  asked  .Manning  what 
had  been  going  on:  he  answered,  '  Well,  we  meet,  and  we 
look  at  one  another,  and  then  we  talk  a  little,  but  when 
we  want  to  know  what  we  have  been  doing,  we  read  the 
Times.'" 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"Jan.  31.  We  have  had  another  anxious  week,  though 
once  more  all  is  going  on  well.  On  Monday  the  Mother 
was  well  enough  to  see  visitors,  hut  that  night  was  in 
terrible  suffering,  and  the  next  day  had  a  slight  paralytic 
seizure  .  .  .  followed  by  long  unconsciousness;  but  it 
was  all  accounted  for  the  next  morning  when  we  found 
the  roof  white  with  snow.  She  continued  in  great  suffer- 
ing  till  Friday,  when  the  weather  suddenly  changed  to 
scirocco,  and  she  at  once  rallied.  That  day  J  was  able  to 
have  my  lecture  on  the  Quirinal  and  Viminal — all  new 
ground.  There  was  a  large  gathering  in  spite  of  weather, 
so  many  people  had  asked  to  come.  I  have  yielded  to  the 
general  wish  of  the  party  in  arranging  weekly  meetings 
at  1"  a.  M..  hut  it   makes  me  feel  terribly  ignorant,   and 


1870] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE  MOTHER 


505 


—  in  the  intervals  of  tending  Mother  —  I  am  at  work 
all  the  week  instructing  myself  upon  the  subject  of  my 
lecture." 

"  Feb.  19.  The  Mother  is  still  sadly  weak,  and  always 
in  an  invalid  state,  yet  she  has  not  the  serious  symptoms 
of  the  winter  you  were  here.     She  is  seldom  able  to  be 


Bgyri 


VIEW    FROM    THE    VIA    GREGORIANA. 


dressed  before  twelve,  and  can  do  very,  very  little  —  to 
read  a  few  verses  or  do  a  row  of  her  crochet  is  the  outside. 
I  scarcely  ever  leave  her,  except  for  my  lectures.  I  had 
one  on  the  Island  yesterday.  The  weather  is  splendid  and 
our  view  an  indescribable  enjoyment,  the  town  so  pictu- 
resque in  its  blue  morning  indistinctness,  and  St.  Peter's 
so  grand  against  the  golden  sunsets.  As  usual,  the  Roman 
society  is  like  the  great  net  which  was  let  down  into  the 
deep  and  brought  up  fish  of  every  kind.  .  .  .  The  Mother 
is  quite  happy  and  bright  in  spite  of  all  her  misfortunes, 
but  we  have  had  to  feed  her  like  a  bird  in  her  blindness. 
I  wonder  if  you  know  th-e  lines  of  Thomas  Dekker 
(1601)  — 


5(J0  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1870 

"•Patience  I  why,  't  is  the  soul  of  peace; 

Of  all  i  be  \  i it iirs,  'i  is  aearesl  kin  to  heaven  ; 
It  makes  men  look  like  gods.     The  best  of  men 
Thai  e'er  wore  earth  about  Him  was  a  sufferer, 
A  soft,  meek,  patient,  humble,  tranquil  spirit; 
Tin'  tirst  true  gentleman  that  ever  breathed.'  " 

To  Miss  Wright. 

"  limae,  Feb.  27.  My  life  this  winter  lias  been  one  of 
constant  watching  and  nursing;  the  Mother  has  been  so 
very  powerless  and  requires  such  constant  care:  but  she 
is,  oh!  so  sweet  and  patient  always.  You  need  not  pity 
me  for  not  going  out;  after  the  day's  anxiety  I  find  the 
luxury  of  the  evening's  rest  so  very  great. 

"  .My  Friday  lectures  now  take  place  regularly,  and  I 
hope  they  give  pleasure,  as  they  are  certainly  crowded.  I 
am  amused  to  see  many  ultra-Catholics  come  time  after 
time,  in  spite  of  my  Protestant  anecdotes.  How  I  wish 
the  kind  Aunt  Sophy  were  here  to  share  these  excursions." 

On  the  12th  of  March  I  spent  a  delightful  after- 
noon with  a  young  artist  friend,  Henry  Florence,  in 
the  garden  of  SS.  Giovanni  e  Paolo,  drawing  the 
gloriously  rich  vegetation  and  the  old  cypresses  there. 
My  Mother  was  tolerably  well,  and  the  air,  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  beauty  around  were  unspeakably 
enchanting.  "  I  never  saw  any  one  enjoy  things  as 
\i>n  do,"  said  Florence,  and  I  spoke  of  my  thankful- 
ness for  having  the  power  of  putting  away  anxieties 
when  they  were  not  pressing,  and  of  making  the 
utmost  of  any  present  enjoyment,  even  though  it  be 
to  "borrow  joy  at  usury  of  pain."1  "Perhaps  it 
may  be  the  last  day,"  I  said.  It  was.  There  is  an 
old  proverb  which  says,  "The  holidays  of  joy  are  the 

1  Monckton  Milues. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  507 

vigils  of  sorrow."  That  night  my  dearest  mother 
had  the  terrible  paralytic  seizure  which  deprived  her 
of  the  use  of  her  left  arm  and  side,  and  from  which 
she  never  recovered. 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"Rome,  March  16,  1870.  My  darling  Mother  is  to-day 
in  a  happy  peaceful  state,  no  longer  one  of  suffering, 
which  is  —  oh !  such  rest  to  us.  She  is  now  able  to  articu- 
late, so  that  I  always,  and  others  often,  understand  her. 
...  I  sleep  close  by  upon  the  floor  and  never  leave  her. 
On  Monday  night  we  were  pleasantly  surprised  by  the 
arrival  of  Amabile,  the  maid  from  Pisa,  who  is  quite  a 
tower  of  strength  to  us  —  so  kind,  gentle,  and  strong. 
Mrs.  Woodward  comes  and  goes  all  day.  Every  one  is 
kind  and  sympathising." 

"March  23.  Mother  talks  constantly  of  Albano  and 
her  great  wish  to  be  there  amongst  the  flowers,  but  for 
many  weeks,  perhaps  months,  this  must  be  impossible." 

"March  28.  It  has  been  the  same  kind  of  week,  alter- 
nately saddened  by  the  strange  phases  of  illness,  or  cheered 
by  slight  amendments:  but  Mother  has  had  many  sad 
nights,  always  worse  than  her  days,  without  rest  even  for 
a  minute.  Her  mind  is  only  too  clear.  She  will  translate 
hymns,  'Abide  with  me,'  &c,  into  Italian;  the  great 
difficulty  is  to  keep  it  all  in  check.  From  4  to  10  p.  m. 
the  nervous  spasms  in  the  paralysed  arm  are  uncontrol- 
lable, and  she  can  only  endure  them  by  holding  tight  to 
my  arm  or  Lea's.  All  yesterday,  however,  I  was  away 
from  her,  tending  poor  young  Sutherland,  who  has  been 
dreadfully  ill  at  the  Hotel  de  Londres  of  typhoid  fever, 
and  who  is  quite  alone  and  helpless." 


508  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

"  April  :>>.  The  .Mother  goes  on  very  slowly,  but  I  hope 
has  not  had  an  unpleasant  week.  She  never  seems  to  find 
the  time  Long,  and  always  looks  equally  placid  and  happy. 
Physically  she  is  certainly  more  comfortable   now  she  is 

entirely  in  bed.  I  lei-  chief  trouble  is  from  the  returning 
vitality  of  the  poor  arm;  the  muscles  knot  all  around  it, 
and  move  on  slowly  by  a  quarter  of  an  inch  at  a  time,  as 
the  life  advances:  passing  the  shoulder  was  agony,  and  1 
dread  the  passing  the  elbow.  .Meantime,  the  rest  of  the 
arm  is  an  independent  being,  acting  by  its  independent 
muscular  action,  and  is  obliged  to  be  constantly  watched, 
as  it  will  sometimes  lay  its  heavy  weight  upon  her  chest, 
once  clutched  her  by  the  throat  and  nearly  strangled  her, 
at  others  annoys  her  by  stealing  her  pocket-handker- 
chiefs! She  has  been  able  to  hear  a  psalm  and  some 
prayers  read  aloud  every  evening,  and  occupies  herself  with 
her  own  inexhaustible  stores  of  mental  hymns  and  verses 
incessantly.  Mrs.  Woodward's  daily  visit  is  one  of  her  little 
pleasures,  and  she  has  also  seen  Mrs.  Hall  several  times. 

"My  young  cousin  Edward  Liddell1  returned  lately 
from  Naples,  and  on  Monday  became  very  ill  of  fever, 
pronounced  typhoid,  and  likely  to  become  typhus  and  very 
infectious,  so.  as  he  had  no  one  else  to  look  after  him,  I 
have  been  nursing  him  ever  since.  It  was  so  fortunate  for 
me  thai  Mother  was  really  better  at  this  time,  or  I  do  not 
know  what  we  could  have  done,  as  though  he  had  one 
good  nurse,  she  was  quite  worn  out,  and  there  was  no 
other  to  be  procured.  So  now  we  take  it  in  turns,  four 
hours  at  a  time,  and  I  chiefly  at  night,  when  she  goes 
borne  to  her  children.  I  am  writing  in  the  darkened 
room,  where  Edward  lies  powerless,  with  all  his  hair  cut 
off  and  his  head  soaked  in  wet  towels,  almost  unable  to 
move,  and  unable  to  feed  himself.  lam  sorry  not  to  be 
able  to  go  out  while  Marcus  Hare  is  here,  and  he  is  much 

1  Eldest  son  of  Coloiul  Augustus  Liddell  and  grandson  of  my 
great-aunt  Lady  Ravensworth. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  509 

disappointed.     He    arrived    suddenly    from    Naples    and 
embraced  me  as  if  we  were  still  children."' 

"April  10.  My  dear  Mother  is  much  the  same.  It  has 
been  a  peaceful  week  with  her,  though  there  is  no  improve- 
ment. .  .  .  The  paralysed  arm  is  quite  useless,  and  has  a 
separate  and  ungovernable  individuality.  This  is  why  she 
can  never  be  left  alone.  Its  weight  is  like  a  log  of  lead, 
and  sometimes  it  will  throw  itself  upon  her,  when  no 
efforts  of  her  own  can  release  her.  Odd  as  it  sounds,  her 
only  safe  moments  are  when  the  obstreperous  member  is 
tied  up  by  a  long  scarf  to  the  post  of  Lea's  bed  opposite 
and  cannot  injure  her.  Mentally,  she  is  always  quiet  and 
happy  and  I  believe  that  she  never  feels  her  altered  life  a 
burden.  She  repeats  constantly  her  hymns  and  verses,  for 
which  her  memory  is  wonderful,  but  she  has  no  longer  any 
power  of  attention  to  reading  and  no  consecutive  ideas. 
All  names  of  places  and  people  she  remembers  perfectly. 
As  Dr.  Winslow  says,  some  of  the  organs  of  the  brain  are 
clearer  than  ever,  others  are  quite  lost. 

"  As  the  fear  of  infection  caused  him  to  be  left  alone,  I 
have  been  constantly  nursing  Edward  Liddell.  All  last 
week  his  fever  constantly  increased,  and  he  was  so  weak 
that  he  could  only  swallow  drops  of  strong  soup  or  milk, 
perpetually  dropped  into  his  mouth  from  a  spoon.  Had 
this  been  ever  relinquished,  the  feeble  flame  of  life  must 
have  become  extinct.  Last  Monday  morning  I  had  gone 
home  to  rest,  when  the  doctor  hastily  summoned  me  back, 
and  I  found  new  symptoms  which  indicated  the  most 
immediate  danger;  so  then,  on  my  own  responsibility,  I 
telegraphed  for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Augustus  Liddell  (his 
father  and  mother),  and  soon  had  the  comfort  of  hearing 
that  they  were  en  route.  That  evening  the  alarming- 
symptoms  returned  with  such  frightful  vehemence  that 
both  nurse  and  doctor  thought  it  impossible  that  he 
could  survive  the  night.     Then  and  for  three  nights  after 


510  Till:   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

i  never  left  Edward  for  a  moment,  bathing  his  head,  feed- 
in-  him,  holding  him,  and  expecting  him  every  instant  to 
die  in  my  arms,  and  in  the  day  only  1  returned  to  pay 
.Mother  visits.  Anything  like  his  sweetness,  gentleness, 
thankfulness,  I  never  saw  in  any  one,  and  his  perfect 
readiness  lor  heaven  made  us  feel  that  it  was  the  less  likely 
that  his  life  would  he  given  hack  to  us;  and  you  may 
imagine,  though  I  had  scarcely  known  him  before,  how 
\er\  close  a  cousinly  tie  has  been  drawn  in  these  hours  of 
anguish.  He  received  the  Sacrament  on  Thursday.  On 
Friday  there  was  a  very  slight  improvement,  but  more 
delirium.  For  four  days  and  nights  he  lay  under  a  vast 
poultice  of  snow,  which  had  to  he  replenished  as  often  as 
it  melted,  and  making  snow  with  a  machine  has  been  per- 
haps the  most  laborious  part  of  my  duties.  Each  night  I 
have  watched  for  the  faint  streak  of  dawn,  wondering  if 
he  could  live  till  morning,  and  feeling  as  if  I  were  wrest- 
ling tor  his  life.  Yesterday  morning,  when  I  knew  his 
parents  were  coming,  it  was  quite  an  agony  of  suspense; 
but  they  arrived  safe,  and  I  was  able  to  give  him  up  living 
to  his  mother's  care.  I  have  had  everyday  to  write  to 
Mrs.  Fiaser  Tyler,  to  whose  daughter  Christina  he  had 
not  been  engaged  a  month,  and  of  whom  he  has  thought 
touchingly  and  incessantly. 

"I  am  not  much  knocked  up,  but  thankful  even  for 
myself  that  Mrs.  Augustus  Liddell  is  come,  as  my  cough 
is  so  much  increased  by  having  to  be  so  often  out  on  the 
balcony  at  night,  up  to  my  elbows  in  the  snow  manufac- 
turing. I  do  not  think  I  could  have  held  out  much  longer, 
and  then  I  do  not  know  what  would  have  become  of 
Edward." 

" April  17.  Last  Sunday  I  had  so  much  more  cough, 
and  was  so  much  knocked  up  with  my  week's  nursing, 
that  kind  Lady  Marian  Alford  insisted  on  taking  me  early 
on  Monday  in  her  own  carriage  to  Albano  for  change.      It 


1870] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


511 


was  like  travelling  with  the  Queen,  everything  so  luxu- 
rious, charming  rooms,  and  perfect  devotion  everywhere  to 
'  la  gran  donna  da  bene, '  her  personal  charm  affecting  all 
classes  equally. 

"Lady  Marian  had  a  very  pleasant  party  at  Alhano, 
Lord  and  Lady  Bagot  and  their  daughter,  Mr.  Story,1 
Miss  Boyle,2  Miss  Hattie  Hosmer,3  and  Mr.4  and  Lady 
Emily  Russell.     The  first  afternoon  we  drove  along  the 


NEMI. 


lake  to  Lariccia,  where  we  went  all  over  the  wonderful 
old  Chigi  palace,  and  then  on  to  the  Cesarini  garden  at 
Genzano,  overhanging  the  lake  of  Nemi.  The  next  morn- 
ing we  went  to  the  Parco  di  Colonna  and  Marino,  and 
then  in  a  tremendous  thunderstorm  to  Frascati,  where  we 
dined  in  the  old  Campana  Palace,  returning  to  Rome  in 
the   evening.     I    like    Mr.    Odo    Russell   and   his  simple 

1  William  Story  the  sculptor  and  poet. 
Miss  Mary  Boyle,  celebrated  for  her  dramatic  powers. 

3  The  sculptress. 

4  Afterwards  Ambassador  at  Berlin. 

5  From  "Days  near  Rome." 


512  THE   STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

massive  goodness  extremely.  I  hear  that  Pius  IX.  says 
of  him.  '  None  un  buono  cattolico,  ma  fc  un  cattivissimo 

protestante. '  Miss  11. .shut  had  said  to  him,  'You're 
growing  too  tat:  you  ought- to  come  outriding;  it  will  do 
you  no  end  of  good;*  to  which  he  replied  in  his  slow  way, 
•  No.  I  cannot  come  out  riding.' — '  And  why  not ? '  said 
.Miss  Hosmer.  'Don't  you  know,"  he  said,  'that  1  am 
vcn  anxious  to  be  made  an  ambassador  as  soon  as  possible, 
and.  since  that  is  the  ease,  I  must  stay  working  at  home.' 

''I  like  midges,  tor  they  love  Venice,  and  they  love 
humanity,"   said    Miss    Mary    Boyle. 

'"On  Wednesday,  finding  both  my  patients  better,  I 
acceded  to  Marcus's  entreaties  and  went  with  him  and 
some  friends  of  his  to  Tivoli  for  the  day.  Most  gloriously 
lovely  was  it  looking!  My  companions  scrambled  round 
the  waterfalls,  whilst  I  sat  and  what  Robert  Peabody  calls 
'  water-coloured  *  opposite  the  Cascatelle.  In  the  evening 
we  went  to  the  Villa  d'Este  and  saw  the  sun  set  upon  the 
grand  old  palace  through  its  dark  frame  of  cypresses, 

"This  morning  I  went  for  the  first  time  to  see  the 
bishops  of  the  Council;  rather  a  disappointing  sight, 
though  they  are  a  fine  set  of  old  men.  Some  of  the 
American   costumes  are  magnificent. 

"  Monday  is  the  end  of  Edward's  twenty-one  days'  fever, 
and  I  am  still  very  anxious  for  the  result.  As  he  says,  I 
feel  rather,  since  the  arrival  of  his  parents,  like  a  hen  who 
has  nursed  a  duckling  which  has  escaped  but  I  go  every 
day  to  look  at  him." 

11  April  80.  It  is  no  use  worrying  oneself  about  the 
journey  yet.  It  "must  always  be  painful  and  anxious. 
On  returning  to  America,  Dr.  Winslow's  last  words  tome 
were,  ;  Remember,  if  she  lias  any  fright,  any  accident,  any 
anxiety,  there  will  be  another  seizure,'  and  in  so  long  a 
journey  this  can  scarcely  be  evaded.  She  must  have  more 
strength  before  we  can  think  of  it.      Her  own  earnest  wish 


1870] 


LAST  YEARS   WITH    THE   MOTHER 


513 


is  to  go  to  Albano  first,  but  I  dread  those  twelve  miles 
extra.  We  always  had  this  house  till  May  15,  and 
hitherto  there  has  been  no  heat. 

"On  Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday,  Mother  was 
carried  down  by  two  women  in  her  dressing-gown,  wrapped 
round  with  shawls,  to  a  little  carriage  at  the  door.     They 


were  perfectly  still  sunny  days,  no  bronchitis  to  be  caught. 
The  first  day  we  only  went  round  the  Pincio,  the  second 
to  the  Parco  di  San  Gregorio,  the  third  to  the  Lateran  and 
Santa  Croce:  she  chose  her  own  two  favourite  drives." 


Journal. 

"  May  3,  1870.  Walked  with  Miss  J.  Pole  Carew  and 
her  governess  from  the  Villa  Albani  to  Sant'  Agnese  to 
look  for  the  blood-red  lily,  seven  feet  high,  which  smells 

1  From  "  Days  near  Rome." 
vol.  ii.  —  33 


5X4  THE   STORY   OF    MY    LIFE  [1870 

so  terribly  that  uo  one  is  able  to  pick  it.  The  governess 
(Miss  Nicholson)  said  ho-w  the  twisted  palms  carried  in 
the  Roman  Catholic  ceremonies  seemed  to  her  like  a  type 
0f  their  faith.  So  much  would  be  beautiful  and  impressive 
in  the  lives  of  the  martyrs  and  the  memories  of  the  early 
Church,  if,  like  the  palms,  so  beautiful  when  they  are  first 
brought  to  Rome,  they  were  aot  twisted  and  overladen,  to 
the  hiding  and  destruction  of  their  original  character." 

To  Misa  Leycesi  er. 

••  May  8.  Last  Sunday  we  drove  to  the  Villa  Borghese, 
which  is  now  in  its  fullest  most  luxuriant  summer  green. 
When  we  came  back,  the  Tombola  was  taking  place  in  the 
Piazza  del  Popolo,  so  that  the  gate  was  closed,  and  we  had 
to  go  round  by  Porta  Salara.  The  slight  additional  dis- 
tance  was  too  much  for  Mother,  so  that  she  has  been 
unable  to  be  up  even  in  her  chair  for  several  days.  This 
will  show  you  how  weak  she  is:  how  terrible  the  return 
journey  is  to  look   forward   to. 

"She  certainly  never  seems  to  realise  her  helplessness, 
or  to  find  out  that  she  can  no  longer  knit  or  do  the  many 
things  she  is  accustomed  to.  .  .  .  She  likes  hearing  Job 
read,  because  of  the  analogy  of  sufferings,  but  she  does 
uot  at  all  admire  Job  as  a  model  of  patience!  Hymns  are 
her  delight,  and  indeed  her  chief  occupation.  She  has 
great  pleasure  in  the  lovely  (lowers  with  which  our  poorer 
friends  constantly  supply  us.  especially  in  the  beautiful 
roses  and  carnations  of  the  faithful  Maria  de  Bonis  (the 
old   photograph   woman),    who  is  as  devoted  as  ever." 

" May  L5.  The  weather  has  been  perfect.  Tn  all  our 
foreign  or  home  experience  I  do  not  recollect  such  weeks 
•  it  hot  sunshine,  yet  never  oppressive;  such  a  delicious 
bracing  air  always.  The  flowers  are  quite  glorious,  and 
our  poor  people  —  grateful  as  only  Italians  are  —  keep  the 
sick-room  constantly  supplied  with  them. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  515 

"  But,  alas !  it  has  been  a  very  sad  week  nevertheless, 
and  if  I  once  allowed  myself  to  think  of  it,  my  heart 
would  sink  within  me.  My  dearest  Mother  has  been  so 
very,  very  suffering;  in  fact,  there  have  been  very  few 
hours  free  from  acute  pain,  and,  in  spite  of  her  sweet 
patience  and  her  natural  leaning  towards  only  thanksgiv- 
ing, her  groans  and  wails  have  been  most  sad  and  the 
flesh  indeed  a  burden.  .  .  .  You  will  easily  imagine  what 
it  is  to  me  to  see  this  state  of  intense  discomfort,  and  to 
be  able  to  do  nothing  to  relieve  it;  for  I  am  quite  con- 
vinced that  nothing  can  be  done,  that  medicine  must  be 
avoided  as  much  as  possible  in  her  worn-out  system,  and 
that  we  must  trust  entirely  to  the  effect  of  climate  and  to 
a  returning  power  of  taking  nourishment.  Dr.  Grigor 
told  her  that  it  was  a  case  of  most  suffering  paralysis, 
usually  producing  such  dreadful  impatience  that  he  won- 
dered at  her  powers  of  self-control.  But  from  my  sweetest 
Mother,  we  never  hear  one  word  which  is  not  of  perfect 
patience  and  faith  and  thanksgiving,  though  her  prayers 
aloud  for  patience  are  sometimes  too  touching  for  us  to 
bear.  She  has  not  been  out  for  ten  days,  as  she  has  really 
had  no  strength  to  bear  the  lifting  up  and  down  stairs,  and 
she  has  seen  nobody  except  our  dear  Mrs.  Woodward  and 
Mary  Stanley." 

To  Miss  Wright. 

"iforae,  May  22,  1870.  The  Mother  can  recover  no 
power  in  her  lost  limbs,  in  which  she  has,  nevertheless, 
acute  pain.  Yet,  deprived  of  every  employment  and  never 
free  from  suffering,  life  is  to  her  one  prolonged  thanks- 
giving, and  in  the  sunshine  of  her  blessed  state  of  outpour- 
ing gratitude  for  the  silver  linings  of  her  clouds,  it  is  not 
for  her  nurses  to  repine.  In  her  case  daily  more  true 
become  the  lines  of  Waller  — 

'  The  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed, 
Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time  has  made.' 


516  THE   S.TORT    OF    MY    LIFE  L187° 

Bui  when  even  her  short  excursions  to  the  Pincio  or 
Villa  Borghese  produce  the  most  intense  exhaustion,  n<> 
stranger  can  imagine  how  we  can  dream  of  attempting  the 
immense  homeward  journey.  Still,  knowing-  her  wonder- 
ful power  of  will  and  what  it  has  accomplished,  I  never 
ilunk  anything  impossible,  and  all  minor  details  of  diffi- 
cult} become  easier  when  one  has  a  fixed  point  of  what 
must  be.      We  shall  at  an\  rate  trj  to  reach   Florence,  and 


;    ;'    if 


.■  if 


'  m% 


nv».'tf 


BRACCIANO.1 

then,  if  she  suffers  seriously  and  further  progress  is  quite 
impossible,  we  shall  be  on  the  way  to  Lucca  or  Siena.  If 
we  ever  do  reach  Bolmhurst,  of  course  it  will  be  for  life, 
which  makes  the  leaving  this  more  than  second  home  very 

sad  to  mo. 

"I  haw  had  many  pleasant  friends  here  this  winter, 
.specially  the  Pole  Carews,  who  are  a  most  charming 
family.  Latterly  also  T  have  seen  much  of  Mrs.  Terry, 
who  is  a  very  interesting  and  delightful  person.  Since  the 
world  has  drifted  northwards.  I  have  seen  more  of  the  few 

1  From  "  Days  near  Rome." 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  517 

friends  who  remain,  and  with  the  Terrys  have  even  accom- 
plished a  very  old  desire  of  going  to  Bracciano.  It  is  a 
beautiful  drive  across  the  Campagna,  and  then  comes  the 
ascent  into  the  steep  old  town,  and  under  the  many  gates 
and  fortalices  of  the  castle,  to  a  courtyard  with  painted 
loggias.  Armed  with  an  order  from  Princess  Odescalchi, 
we  went  all  over  the  rooms  with  their  curious  ugly  old 
pictures  and  carving,  and  sat  in  the  balconies  looking 
down  upon  the  beautiful  transparent  Bracciano  lake, 
twenty  miles  in  circumference,  all  the  mountains  reflected 
as  in  a  mirror.  Mrs.  Terry  is  charming:  after  we  had 
talked  of  sad  subjects  she  said  — 4  But  we  have  spoken 
enough  of  these  things;  now  let  us  talk  of  butterflies  and 
flowers.'  In  spite  of  all  other  work,  I  have  sold  £75 
worth  of  sketches  this  winter,  chiefly  old  ones,  so  am 
nearly  able  to  pay  our  rent." 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"Borne,  May  26,  1870.  The  Mother  is  better  for  the 
great  heat,  thermometer  standing  at  85°,  but  Rome  always 
has  such  a  fresh  air  that  heat  is  never  overpowering,  and 
in  our  delightful  apartments  we  never  suffer,  as  we  can 
have  so  much  variety,  and  if  Mother  does  not  go  out,  she  is 
moved  to  the  balcony  overhanging  the  little  garden  at  the 
back,  where  she  sits  and  has  her  tea  under  a  vine-covered 
pergola.  If  we  are  permitted  to  reach  Holmhurst,  I  fear 
all  will  not  be  benefit.  I  much  dread  the  difficulty  there 
will  be  in  keeping  Lea  from  being  wholly  engrossed  again 
by  household  affairs,  and  I  cannot  see  how  Mother  could 
do  without  her  almost  constant  attendance,  which  she  has 
now.  Also,  we  shall  greatly  miss  the  large  bedroom  open- 
ing into  a  sitting-room,  where  I  can  pursue  my  avocations, 
able  to  be  with  her  at  the  faintest  call,  and  yet  not  quite 
close  to  the  groans.  .  .  .  But  all  this  is  long,  long  look- 
ing forward:  there  seems  such  a  gulf  between  us  and 
England.   .   .   .   Yet  we  think  of  attempting  the  move  next 


18 


THE    STORY    <)F    .MY    LIFE 


[1870 


week,  and  on  Friday  sent  off  six  Large   boxes  with  the 

accumulations    of     many    years,    retaining    also    a    list    of 
what   must  1m-  sent  hack  it'  we  never  reach  England. 

"The  Signorina  and  Samuccia,  Clementina  and  Louisa, 
Rosina  and  Madame  da  Monaca,  have  all  been  to  say  good- 
bye, and  all  kiss  Mother  with  tears  on  taking  leave,  over- 
come by  her  helpless  state  and  sweet  look  of  patience." 


GRAVl     O]      IUGU8TUS    W.    HARE,    ROUE. 


"May  29.  Emmie  Penrhyn's  letter  was  an  especial 
pleasure  to  the  Mother,  and  what  she  said  of  the  centu- 
rion's servant,  grievously  '  tormented.'  Certainly  she  is 
grievously  tormented.  The  pain  really  never  ceases,  and 
the  individual  motion  of  the  helpless  arm  is  terrible.  .  .  . 
I  think  with  misery  of  the  disappointment  the  return  to 
Holmhurst  will  be  to  her.  She  cannot  realise  that  it  will 
not  be,  as  it  has  always  been,  the  home  of  her  well  months, 
talks  of  how  she  shall  *  frolic  out  into  the  garden,'  &c.  I 
feel  if  we  ever  reach  it.  it  is  going,  not  to  England,  but  to 
Holmhurst    for  life.   .   .   .   We  have  been  to  the  cemetery 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  519 

under  Cams  Cestius,  and  the  sentinel  allowed  her  little 
carriage  to  pass  across  the  turf,  so  that  she  was  able  to 
look  once  more  upon  the  well-known  grave,  embosomed  in 
its  roses  and  aloes.  Yesterday  we  went  to  take  leave  of 
the  old  Miss  Haigs  at  their  beautiful  villa.  The  three  old 
ladies  embraced  Mother,  and  presented  her,  like  three 
good  fairies,  one  with  roses,  another  with  geraniums,  and 
the  third  with  two  ripe  strawberries." 

"Florence,  June  1.  Monday  was  a  terribly  fatiguing 
day,  but  Mother  remained  in  bed,  and  was  very  composed, 
only  anxious  that  nothing  should  occur  to  prevent  our 
departure,  and  to  prove  to  us  that  she  was  well  enough. 
At  five  Mrs.  Woodward  came  and  sat  by  her  whilst  Lea 
and  I  were  occupied  with  last  preparations.  At  7  p.  m. 
Mother  was  carried  down  and  went  off  in  a  little  low  car- 
riage with  Mrs.  Woodward  and  Lea,  and  T  followed  in  a 
large  carriage  with  Miss  Finucane  and  the  luggage. 
There  was  quite  a  collection  of  our  poorer  friends  to  see 
Mother  off  and  kiss  hands.  At  the  railway  the  faithful 
Maria  de  Bonis  was  waiting,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Woodward 
stayed  with  Mother  and  saw  her  carried  straight  through 
to  the  railway  coupe  which  was  secured  for  us.  We  felt 
deeply  taking  leave  of  the  kindest  of  friends,  who  has  been 
such  a  comfort  and  blessing  to  us,  certainly,  next  to  you, 
the  chief  support  of  Mother's  later  years.  '  Oh,  how  beau- 
tiful it  will  be  when  the  gates  which  are  now  ajar  are 
quite  open!  '  were  her  last  words  to  Mother. 

"  The  carriage  was  most  comfortable.  .  .  .  Mother  slept 
a  little,  and  though  she  wailed  occasionally,  was  certainly 
no  worse  than  on  ordinary  nights.  The  dawn  was  lovely 
over  the  rich  Tuscan  valleys,  so  bright  with  corn  and 
vines,  tall  cypresses,  and  high  villa  roofs.  She  was  carried 
straight  through  to  a  carriage,  and  soon  reached  the 
succursale  of  the  Alleanza,  where  the  people  know  us  and 
are  most  kind.     In  the  afternoon  she  slept,  and  I  drove 


520 


TI1K    STOKY    OF    MY    LIFE 


[1S70 


up  t<>  Fiesole,  where  I  had  not  been  for  twelve  years,  with 
Mi-,  and  Mrs.  Cummings,  Ajnerican  friends." 

"Bologna,  June  5.  I  fear,  alter  my  last,  you  will  be 
grievously  disappointed  to  hear  of  us  as  no  farther  on  our 
U:1X.      We  can,  however,  only  bell   from  hour  to  hour  how 


Klft. 


I'ROM    THE    LOGGIA    DEI    LAXZI.1 


soon  we  may  l>e  able  to  get  on,  and  I  find  it  entirely  use- 
less to  make  plans  of  any  kind,  as  we  are  sure  not  to  be 
able  to  keep  them.  On  Tuesday  a  great  thunderstorm 
prevented  our  leaving  Florence,  and  on  Wednesday  and 
Thursday  Mother  was  in  such  terrible  suffering  that  it  was 
impossible  to  think  of  it.  On  Friday  evening  there  was  a 
rally,  and  we  came  on  at  once,  Mrs.  Dallas  helping  us 
through  the  difficulties  of  the  Florence  Station,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Cummings  following  us  here.  T  think  T  men- 
tioned that  Dr.  Grigor  said  travelling  at  night,  when  there 
was  no  sun,  was  the  only  chance  of  her  reaching  England 

1   From  ••  Florence." 


1870] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


521 


alive.  Mother  begs  I  will  tell  Charlotte  that  '  No  words 
can  describe  her  sufferings  or  my  anxieties,  but  that  she 
has  been  brought  through  wonderfully  hitherto,  and  that 
she  still  hopes  to  reach  England  —  in  time. ' 


PIAZZA    S.    DOMENICO,    BOLOGNA.1 


Journal. 

"Bologna,  June  5.  Mr.  Cummings  says  the  great 
Church  of  S.  Petronio  here  reminds  him  of  the  great 
Church  universal  —  so  vast  the  space,  and  so  many  chapels 
branching  off,  all  so  widely  divided  that  in  each  a  separate 
sermon  and  doctrine  might  be  preached  without  distressing 
its  neighbour,  while  yet  all  meet  in  the  centre  in  one 
common  whole,   the  common  Church  of  Christ. 

"  An  old  American  lady  in  the  train  had  passed  a 
summer  at  Vallombrosa.  She  said  it  was  a  place  where  to 
live  was  life  and  where  one  could  be  happy  when  one  was 
unhappy. " 

1  From  ■'  Northern  Italy." 


522  THE   STORY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1870 

To    Ml88    l-i  VCE8T1  R. 

uSusa,  June  8,  1870.  The  Mother  continued  in  a  most 
terribly  Buffering  state  all  the  time  we  were  at  Bologna  — 
agonies  of  pain  which  gave  no  rest.  Yesterday  afternoon 
ii  was  so  intense  that  she  implored  me  to  try  the  railway 
as  a  counter-irritant,  and  we  set  off  at  half-past  ten  at 
night.  Bui  the  train  shook  fearfully,  and  the  journey  was 
absolute  torture  to  her.  We  have  never  had  such  a  pain- 
lul  time.  Lea  and  I  were  obliged  to  sit  on  the  floor  by 
turns,  holding  the  poor  hand,  and  trying  to  animate  her 
courage  to  bear  np,  but  her  cries  were  terrible.  We 
reached  Turin  at  5  a.  m.,  where,  in  spite  of  all  promises 
to  the  contrary,  she  had  to  be  carried  all  round  the 
station;  but  fortunately  for  the  next  hour  the  train  was 
easier  and  she  suffered  less.  She  was  carried  by  two  men 
out  of  the  station,  and  down  the  wet  muddy  road  here, 
where  she  has  a  good  room,  and  soon  fell  asleep  from 
exhaustion.  We  arrived  at  6.30  a.  m.,  and  shall  stay  till 
to-morrow  morning.  Her  state  is  certainly  one  of  incom- 
parably more  suffering  than  at  Koine,  and  she  feels  the 
change   of  climate   dreadfully."1 

" Aix-les-Bains,  -fane  9.  Last  night,  to  my  great  relief, 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Cracroft  and  Miss  Wilson  arrived  at 
Susa,  and  were  the  greatest  possible  help  to  us.  We  had 
obtained  a  permesso  for  the  Mother  to  be  taken  straight 
through  to  the  Fell  railway  carriage,  and  her  little  proces- 
sion started  at  7  a.  m..  and  she  was  carried  from  her  bed  to 
her  seat  in  the  railway.  The  Cracrofts  sat  all  around  us 
in  the  carriage,  which  was  much  better  than  strangers,  and 
Mis-  Wilson  was  most  kind  in  keeping  her  hands  bathed 
with  can  de  Cologne,  &c.  She  suffered  much  for  the  first 
two  hours,  but  the  train  was  wonderfully  smooth  and  easy, 
so  that  really  the  dreaded  Mont  Cenis  was  the  least  dis- 
tressing part  of  the  journey.  About  the  middle  of  the 
pass  she  revived  a  little,  and  noticed  the  flowers,   which 


1870]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  523 

were  lovely  —  such  gentianellas,  auriculas,  large  golden 
lilies,  &c.  At  S.  Michel  she  bore  the  being  carried 
about  tolerably,  so  we  were  able  to  come  on  here,  and 
arrived  about  four.  Mother  desires  I  will  say  to  Charlotte, 
'  Hitherto  the  Lord  hath  helped  me.' '' 

"Macon,  June  12.  No  farther  on  our  way  than  this. 
Mother  was  rather  less  suffering  on  Friday,  and  she  bore 
the  move  from  Aix  and  the  dreaded  change  at  Culoz  better 
than  we  expected,  but  in  the  latter  part  of  our  four  hours' 
journey  she  was  fearfully  exhausted,  and  arrived  here  (at 
the  hotel  looking  out  on  the  Saone  and  the  wide-stretching 
poplar  plains)  in  a  sad  state.  ...  It  is  impossible  to 
move  on  yet. 

"Yesterday,  while  she  was  sleeping,  I  drove  to  Cluny, 
the  queen  of  French  abbeys.  A  great  deal  is  left,  and  it 
is  a  most  interesting  and  beautiful  place.  I  also  saw 
Lamartine's  little  chateau  of  Monceaux,  described  in  his 
'  Confidences. '  All  his  things  and  his  library  were  being 
sold  under  the  chestnut-trees  in  front  of  the  house.  I  just 
came  up  in  time  to  buy  the  old  apple-green  silk  quilt1 
from  the  bed  of  his  saint-like  mother,  described  in  '  Le 
Manuscrit  de  ma  Mere.' 

Montbard,  June  13.  Mother  was  so  anxious  to  attempt 
coming  on,  that  we  left  Macon  at  half -past  eleven  to-day, 
arriving  here  at  four.  To  our  dismay,  when  she  had  been 
taken  out  of  the  carriage  and  laid  flat  upon  the  platform, 
and  the  train  had  gone  off,  we  found  the  station  hotel 
closed.  However,  she  was  well  carried  on  a  chair  down  a 
lane  to  the  so-called  Hotel  de  la  Poste  —  an  old-fashioned 
farm-house  in  a  garden  of  roses ;  everything  clean,  pretty, 
and  quaint;  no  sound  but  cocks  and  hens  crowing  and 
cackling;  delicious  farm-house  bread,  butter,  and  milk. 
Montbard  is  the  place  where  Buffon  lived  in  a  very  pictu- 

1  Now  at  Holmhurst. 


52  I 


THE   STORY   (>F   .MY    LIFE 


[1870 


resque  old  chfiteau  and  gardens.  Mother  seems  revived  by 
the  intense  quiel  and  Eresh  country  air.  The  old  land- 
lord and  his  wife  are  quite  pictures  -such  clever,  kind 
old  laces,  reminding  one  of  La  Sarte  in  '  Citoyenne 
Jacqueline. " 


"Paris,  June  14.  This  morning  was  like  a  respite! 
Mother  lay  so  quiet  that  I  was  actually  able  to  draw  as  in 
the  old  days,  which  now  seem  in  the  far  distance;  and  I 
took  a  little  carriage  to  the  lovely  cloistered  chateau  of 
Fontenay,  which  I  had  long  wished  to  see,  and  where  I 
had  luncheon  with  the  charming  owner,  Madame  de 
Montgolfier,  and  her  two  sons,  people  who  own  immense 
factories  in  the  valley  and  devote  their  whole  lives  to  the 
good  of  their  workpeople.  On  my  return  I  found  Mother 
so  Ear  letter  that  we  could  prepare  her  for  the  one  o'clock 
express.     She  had  a  bath-chair  to  the  station,  and  bore  it 

1  Prom  "  South-Eastern  France." 


1870] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


525 


well;  but  she  was  terribly  tried  by  the  five  hours'  journey, 
and  being  very  ill  carried  at  Paris,  arrived  at  the  hotel 
utterly  prostrated.  We  hope  to  go  on  to-morrow,  but  all 
is  most  uncertain." 

''''Dover  Station,  June  16.     We  are  here,   with  intense 
thankfulness.     Mother  looked  so  ill  and  aged  this  morn- 


CLOISTER    OK    FONTENAY.1 


ing  we  did  not  hope  to  move  her,  but  she  had  a  sudden 
rally  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  so  at  6  P.  m.  we  were  able 
to  prepare  her,  and  had  her  carried  through  the  station  to 
a  carriage  before  the  mob  of  people  came.  .  .  .  We 
dreaded  arriving  at  Calais,  but  she  was  carried  in  an  arm- 
chair to  the  steamer,  which  was  fortunately  at  the  near 
quay  and  no  steps.  Of  course  our  little  procession  was 
the  last  to  arrive    and  every  place  was  taken;  but  Miss 

1  From  "  South-Eastern  France." 


526  THE   STORY    OF   MY    LIFE  [1870 

( lharlotte  Cushman,1  who  had  comfortably  established  her- 
self in  the  cabin,  with  a  calm  dignity  which  is  irresistible, 
at  once  directed  the  men  to  put  Mother  down  in  her  place, 
and  went  lip  on  deck. 

"The  sea  was  like  -lass  -lovely  moonlight  and  sunrise, 
and  we  seemed  to  be  at  Dover  before  we  left  Calais.  A 
sailor  carried  Mother  in  his  arms  to  the  railway  carriage, 
in  which  we  were  allowed  to  go  as  far  as  the  station 
platform,  and  here  we  are.  A  porter  has  fetched  cups  of 
tea,  and  we  have  four  hours  to  wait. 

"We  shall  be  glad  of  a  visit  from  you  as  early  as  you 
like  to  come  next  week.  I  should  not  like  you  to  defer 
coming  long,  as,  though  I  have  no  special  cause  for  appre- 
hension, still  in  Mother's  critical  state  every  day  is 
precious.  You  will  find  her  terribly  altered  in  all  respects, 
though  the  mind  and  memory  are  quite  clear  at  the  moment. 
None  of  her  doctors  give  any  hope  whatever  of  amendment; 
but  von  will  understand  the  position  much  better  when 
von  see  it,  only  I  am  anxious  that  you  should  help  me  to 
face  what  is  inevitable,  instead  of  striving  after  what 
cannot  be.  Let  us  seek  to  alleviate  suffering,  not  struggle 
after  an  impossible  cure  which  may  hasten  the  end." 

/.,  \li-v  Wright. 

" Holmhurst,  -lime  17.  I  know  you  will  truly  rejoice 
with  and  for  us  that  we  have  arrived  in  safety,  and  that 

niv  | r  suffering  Mother  has  her  great  wish  of  seeing  her 

little  home  once  more.  You  will  imagine  what  the  journey 
has  been,  as  she  is  now  utterly  helpless,  nearly  blind,  and 
never  tree  from  acute  suffering  in  the  spine  and  arm, 
which  is  often  agony.  At  Rome  it  was  generally  thought 
quite  impossible  thai  she  could  survive  the  journey,  and 
nothing  but  her  faith  and  patience,  and  her  self-control, 
have  enabled  us  to  get  through  it.      We  never  could  make 

1  The  well-known  and  admirable  American  actress. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS  WITH   THE   MOTHER  527 

a  plan,  but  just  seized  the  happy  moment  when  she  was  a 
shade  better,  and  at  once  pushed  on  a  step.  She  was,  of 
course,  carried  everywhere,  and  people  were  wonderfully 
kind;  we  had  always  somebody  to  go  with  us  and  smooth 
the  difficulties  of  the  railway  stations  —  either  old  friends 
or  people  who  were  at  my  lectures  at  Rome  and  met  us 
accidentally. 

""When  we  arrived,  all  the  old  servants  were  terribly 
overcome  to  see  their  beloved  mistress  carried  in  so 
changed  and  helpless.  She  is  still  very  ill,  but  unspeak- 
ably thankful  to  be  here,  and  to  feel  that  the  journey  is 
done.  My  life  is,  and  must  continue  to  be,  one  of  con- 
stant watching." 

"July  21.  Our  letters  are  now  our  only  intercourse 
with  the  world  beyond  the  gates  of  Holmhurst,  which 
I  never  leave ;  but  indeed  I  can  seldom  leave  the  house 
before  8  P.  m.,  when  I  walk  round  the  fields  while  Mother 
is  prepared  for  the  night.  Though  it  is  now  the  only 
thing  I  ever  think  of,  it  is  very  difficult  to  occupy  and 
cheer  her  days,  for  she  cannot  bear  any  consecutive  read- 
ing. Sometimes  I  read,  and  tell  her  what  I  have  read  as 
a  kind  of  story.  She  is  seldom  up  before  3  p.m.,  and  then 
is  carried  down  to  the  lawn  in  her  dressing-gown,  and  up 
again  at  four,  when  she  is  sometimes  able  to  look  at  a 
book  for  a  few  minutes.  That  which  is  oftenest  in  her 
hand  is  the  little  '  Invalid's  Friend  '  which  you  gave  her, 
and  she  desires  me  to  tell  you  how  often  she  finds  comfort 
in  it.  .  .  .  For  the  last  fortnight  we  have  been  entirely 
alone,  which  has  been  really  best  for  her,  as,  though  she 
has  enjoyed  seeing  those  she  loved,  each  departure  has 
made  her  worse. 

"  I  write  much  at  my  '  Walks  in  Rome  '  in  her  room, 
'  and  my  ancient  history  is  so  imperfect  I  have  plenty  to 
study,  which  acts  as  a  sort  of  mental  tonic/' 


THE   STORY.    OF    MY    LIFE  [1870 

From  my  Joi  rnal  (The  Green  Book). 

••./„,,,  iiii.  .My  darling  often  /"//•*  to  me  in  her  hymns. 
To-night,  when  I  left  her,  she  said  with  her  lovely  sweet- 
ness, "  Good-night,  darling. 

••<;(>.  sleep  Like  closing  flowers  at  night, 
Ami  Heaven  your  morn  will  bless."' 

"'  1  aever  wish  to  leave  you,'  she  said  the  other  day, 
4  I  never  wish  for  death;  always  remember  that.  I  should 
like  to  stay  with  you  as  long  as  I  can.'  And  another  day, 
•  1  must  call  you  "my  daughter-son,"  as  Mrs.  Colquhoun 
did  hers:  as  long  as  I  have  yon,  1  suppose  I  can  bear  any- 
thing: but  if  you  were  taken  away,  or  if  I  had  never  had 
\ou.  tny  Life  would  be  indeed  desolate:  I  could  not  have 
lived  on.  ...  1  try  so  not  to  groan  when  you  are  here, 
yon  must  not  grudge  me  a  few  groans  when  you  are  out 
of  the  room."  "' 

"July  L8.  kl  had  such  a  sweet  dream  of  your  Aunt 
Lucy  last  night.  I  thought  we  were  together  again,  and 
1  said.  "How  I  do  miss  you!"  and  she  said  she  was  near 
me.      I  suppose  I  had  been  thinking  of  — 

-Saints  in  glory  perfect  made 
Wait  thine  escort  through  the  shade." 

I  think  perhaps  I  had  been  thinking  of  that.     Dear  Aunt 
Lucy,  how  she  would  have  grieved  to  see  me  now!  ' 

"July  19.  'Yes,  I  know  the  psalms;  many  in  your 
Uncle  Julius's  version  too.  Many  a  time  it  keeps  me 
quiet  for  hours  to  know  and  repeat  them.  I  should  never 
have  got  through  my  journey  if  I  had  not  had  so  many  to 
repent  and  to  still  the  impatience.' 

Tn  Miss  Wright. 

"  ffolmhurst,  July  31,  1870.  I  continue  to  work  on 
steadily  at   my  book   in  the  sick-room.     I  have  just  got 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  529 

Murray's  Roman  Handbook,  and  am  amazed  to  see  how 
much  better  it  is  than  I  expected ;  but  I  am  glad  I  have 
not  seen  it  before,  as,  though  I  have  already  given  even 
all  his  newest  information,  I  have  told  it  so  oddly 
differently. 

"  The  sweet  Mother  continues  much  the  same.  She  is 
carried  out  each  fine  afternoon  to  sit  for  an  hour  near  the 
weeping  ash-tree  on  the  lawn,  and  enjoys  the  sunshine 
and  flowers.  ...  In  this  quiet  garden,  and  never  going 
beyond  the  gates,  everything  seems  yery  far  off,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  have  quite  a  sympathy  with  the  hermits,  and 
to  wonder  the  race  does  not  continue :  it  is  certainly  more 
reasonable  than  that  of  the  monks.  A  great  peace  seems 
to  have  fallen  upon  us.  As  I  see  my  helpless  Mother's 
quiet  happiness,  and  share  it,  I  think  of  Richard  Crashaw's 
lines  — 

"  '  How  many  unknown  worlds  there  are 

Of  comforts,  which  Thou  hast  in  keeping ! 
How  many  thousand  mercies  there 

In  Pity's  soft  lap  lie  a-sleeping ! 
Happy  she  who  has  the  art 
To  awake  them 
And  to  take  them 
Home,  and  lodge  them  in  her  heart.' " 

From  my  Journal  (The  Green  Book). 

" August  8.  It  is  inexpressibly  touching  to  me  how 
Mother  now  seems  to  have  an  insight  into  my  past  feel- 
ings which  she  never  had  before,  and  to  understand  and 
sympathise  with  childish  sufferings  which  she  never  per- 
ceived at  the  time,  or  from  which  she  would  have  turned 
aside  if  she  had  perceived  them.  To-day,  after  her 
dinner,  she  said  most  touchingly,  watching  till  every  one 
went  away  and  calling  me  close  to  her  pillow  — '  I  want  to 
make  my  confession  to  you,  darling.  I  often  feel  I  have 
never  been  half  tender  enough  to  you.     I  feel  it  now,  and 

vol.  ii.  —  34 


530  THE    STOKY    OF    MY    LIFE  [1870 

I  should  like  you  to  know  it.  You  are  such  a  comfort 
and  blessing,  to  me,  dearest,  and  I  thought  perhaps  I 
might  die  suddenly,  and  never  have  told  you  SO.  1  can- 
not bear  jrOUI  being  tied  here,  and  yet  I  do  not  know  how 
I   could   do   without   you,    you   are  so  great  a  blessing  to 

me. " 

"And  oh!  in  the  desolate  future  what  a  comfort  these 
lew  words  will  contain!  But  I  said--'  No,  darling,  I  am 
not  tied:  you  know  it  is  just  what  1  like.  I  know  you 
could  imi  do  without  me,  hut  then  1  could  not  do  without 
\oii,  so  it  is  just  the  same  for  both  of  us.'" 

"  August  26.  To-day  is  the  anniversary  of  my  adoption, 
what  Mother  used  to  call  my  Ilurstmonceaux  birthday. 
She  remembered  it  when  I  went  to  her,  and  said  toueh- 
ingly  —  'God  he  thanked  for  having  given  me  my  child, 
tor  having  preserved  him,  for  having  strengthened  him. 
May  he  live  to  Mis  glory,  and  may  1  die  to  His  praise. 
.  .  .  I'ra\  that  lie  may  forgive  the  past,  watch  over  the 
present,  and  guide  the  future.'  Later  she  said  —  'It  is 
very  seldom  that  a  woman's,  future  is  settled  at  thirty- 
live,  as  mine  was.  I  was  not  only  a  widow,  but  my  adopt- 
ing a  child  showed  to  all  the  world  that  I  should  never 
marry  again.  ...  I  can  only  make  a  meditation,'  she 
said;  kl  have  no  strength  to  make  a  prayer.  ...  I  have 
long  been  obliged  to  pray  in  snatches  -in  moments.  .  .  . 
I  am  so  glad  that  I  know  so  many  psalms,  hymns,  and. 
collects;  they  are  smh  a  comfort  to  me  now.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  more,  hut  these  I  dwell  upon.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  when  I  can  think  of  nothing  else  I  take  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  and  lie  still  to  make  a  meditation  upon 
each  separate  clause."  When  I  left  her  at  night  she  said 
fervently  -'Good-night,  my  own  dear  love,  my  blessing: 
may  1  he  your  blessing,  as  you  are  mine.'  " 

In  our  quiet  life,  the  news  of  the  war  in  France, 
the    siege    of    Paris,    &c,    reached    us    like    far-off 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  531 

echoes.  My  mother  cared  little  to  hear  of  it,  but 
shared  with  me  in  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  the 
excellent  people  we  had  so  lately  left  at  Montbard 
and  Fontenay,  which  were  overrun  by  the  Prussians. 
On  September  8  the  Empress  Eugenie  took  refuge  at 
Hastings,  and  two  days  after  walked  up  the  hill 
past  our  gate.  She  was  joined  at  Hastings  by  the 
Prince  Imperial.  I  little  thought  then  that  I  should 
afterwards  know  him  so  well. 

Journal. 

"Sept.  10,  1870.  Lea  has  just  been  saying,  '  You  may 
go  and  count  the  trees  to-day,  for  I  've  nothing  for  you 
for  dinner.  The  butcher  's  never  been,  good-for-nothing 
fellow!  he's  gone  gawking  after  that  Empress,  I'll  be 
bound."' 

• 

Almost  all  my  Mother's  nieces  and  many  old 
friends  came  to  see  her  in  the  summer,  generally 
staying  only  two  or  three  days,  but  her  dear  cousin, 
Charlotte  Leycester,  came  for  the  whole  of  Septem- 
ber. While  she  was  here  at  Holmhurst  I  was  per- 
suaded to  go  away  for  two  days,  and  went  to  see 
Dean  Alford  at  his  cottage  of  Vine's  Gate  in  the 
Kentish  Hills.  He  was  more  charming  than  ever, 
and  more  eccentric,  never  wearing  stockings,  and 
shoes  only  when  he  went  out.  I  was  miserable,  in 
my  short  absence,  with  anxiety,  which  cost  me  far 
more  than  the  refreshment  of  change  could  replace ; 
but  I  was  led  to  go  to  see  the  Dean  by  one  of  those 
strange  presentiments  for  which  I  have  never  been 
able  to  account.  It  was  my  last  sight  of  this  dear 
friend,  with  whom  I  have  been  more  really  intimate 


532 


I  III!    STORY   OF   MY    LIFE 


[1870 


than  with  perhaps  any  one  else,  in  spite  of  the  great 
difference  of  age  and  position.  Dean  Alford  died  in 
the  following  winter,  but  it  was  at  a  time  when,  in 
my  own  intense  desolation,  all  minor  sorrows  fell 
dumb  and  dead.  But  his  grave,  in  St.  Martin's 
Chiirchyard  at  Canterbury,  is  always  a  very  sacred 
spot  to  nie. 


ST.    MM:  tins,   CANTERBURY. 


I  must  record  a  visit  which  we  received  soon  after 
my  return  home,  as  it  led  to  a  friendship  which  was 
one  of  the  great  pleasures  of  many  following  years. 
One  morning,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  Mother's  room 
as  usual,  a  card  with  "Mrs.  Grove,  Oakhurst,"  was 
brought  up  to  me,  and,  as  I  opened  the  drawing-room 
door,  I  saw  an  old  lady  with  the  very  sweetest  and 
dearest  face  I  ever  set  eyes  upon,  in  a  primitive- 
looking   hat   and  apron,  and  with  a  basket  on  her 


: 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  533 

arm,  and  I  fell  in  love  with  her  at  once.  She  came 
often  afterwards  to  see  my  Mother,  who  greatly 
appreciated  her;  and  after  my  Mother's  sweet  life 
passed  away,  it  is  difficult  to  say  how  much  of  my 
home  interest  was  associated  with  Oakfrarst,  with  the 
ready  sympathy  and  old-fashioned  knowledge  of  this 
dear  Mrs.  Grove,  and  with  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Baillie 
Hamilton,  and  her  two  grand-daughters,  now  Mrs. 
Spencer  Smith  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  Seymour.  Alas ! 
as  I  write  this,1  the  dear  Mrs.  Grove,  in  her  great 
age,  is  herself  rapidly  fading  heavenwards  —  but  so 
gentry,  so  surrounded  by  the  love  which  her  own 
loving-kindness  has  called  forth,  that  death  is  indeed 
coming  as  a  friend,  gently  and  tenderly  leading  her 
into  the  visible  presence  of  the  Saviour,  in  whose 
invisible  presence  she  has  so  long  lived  and  served. 

Journal  (The  Green  Book). 

"Holmhurst,  Oct.  20,  1870.  Mother  said  to-day,  'I 
always  think  that  walking  through  the  Roman  picture- 
galleries  is  like  walking  through  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ment with  the  blessed  company  of  apostles  and  martyrs 
beside  one.  .  .  .  I  am  so  fond  of  that  praj^er  "  for  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men,"  not  only  for  my  invalid  state,  but 
it  is  all  so  appropriate  to  the  present  time  —  the  petition 
for  peace  and  unity,  &c. '  " 

"  Oct.  23,  Sunday.  'Alas!  another  Sunday  in  bed,'  said 
Mother  this  morning. 

" '  But,  darling,  you  need  not  regret  it ;  all  the  days  are 
Sundays  to  you. ' 

" '  Yes ;  but  to-day  I  woke  early,  and  have  said  all  my 
little  Sunday  hymns  and  psalms. ' 

1  Tn  April,  1880. 


534  THE   STOKY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

"Truly  with  her,  '  Les  prieres  de  la  nuit  font  la  sdrenite' 
du  jour.1  "  ' 

"  Oct.  26.  "  My  dear  child  is  never  cross  to  me,  never  ; 
and  always  appears  just  at  the  very  moment  I  want  any- 
thing. '  " 

IllSS    W  Kit. II  I  . 

"ffolmhurst,  Oct.  28,  1870.  I  am  so  glad  you  have 
been  here,  and  can  fancy  our  perfectly  quiet,  eventless 
life,  the  coming  and  going  in  the  Mother's  sick-room,  and 
her  gentle  happiness  in  all  the  little  pleasures  which  are 
spared  to  her.  Since  you  were  here  she  has  been  not  so 
well,  from  the  wet  and  cold,  I  suppose,  the  sight  dimmer 
and  the  other  powers  weaker;  but  the  symptoms  are  ever 
varying,  and,  when  it  is  thus,  I  almost  never  leave  her  — 
watch  her  sleeping  and  try  to  amuse  her  waking. 

"To-day  my  absent  hour  was  sadly  engaged  in  attend- 
ing the  funeral  of  my  dear  old  friend,  Mrs.  Dixon,2  who 
died  quite  peacefully  last  Saturday,  a  long  illness  ending 
in  two  days  of  merciful  unconsciousness.  She  was  buried 
at  Ore,  in  Emma  Simpkinson's  grave.  Many  deeply 
mourn  her,  for  few  were  more  sincere  and  cordial,  more 
affectionate  and  sympathising." 

Journal  (The  Green  Book). 

"Nov.  1,  1870.  My  darling  has  had  two  months  of 
comparative  freedom  from  pain,  with  many  hours  of  real 
pleasure,  in  which  she  was  often  carried  down  and  sat  out 
in  her  bath-chair  amongst  the  flower-beds  in  the  sunshine. 
Sitting  under  the  ash-tree  shade,  she  has  been  able  to  see 
many  friends — Mrs.  Wagner,  Mrs.  Grove,  old  Mrs. 
Vansittart  Neale  at  ninety,  and  Lady  Waldegrave.     Char- 

1  Diderot,  "  Sarrasins." 

2  Eldest  Bister  of  my  old  Harrow  master,  and  of  Emma  Simpkinson, 
often  mentioned  in  these  Memoirs.  In  my  childhood  she  lived  at 
Bnrstmonceaux. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE    MOTHER  535 

lotte  Leycester  was  here  for  six  weeks,  and  the  Mother 
was  then  so  far  better  that  it  was  a  great  source  of  enjo}- 
ment  to  both  the  cousins.     Since  then  she  has  ailed  more 
frequently,  and  has  had  occasional  recurrence  of  the  old 
pain  in  her  arm.     I  have  sat  constantly  writing  in  her 
room,    laying   aside   '  Walks    in   Rome '    for  a  time,    and 
devoting  myself  to  writing  the    Family  Memorials.     For 
the  dear  Mother  has  wished  me  to  continue  the  work  she 
began  long  ago  of  writing  the  life  of  Augustus  and  Julius 
Hare.     I  represented  that,  as  one  of  these  died  before  I 
was  born,  and  I  had  never  appreciated  the  other  as  she 
had  done,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  do  this,  unless 
she  would  permit  me  to  make  her,  who  had  been  the  sun- 
shine of  my  own  life,   the  central  figure  of  the   picture. 
At  first  she  laughed  at  the  idea,  but,  after  a  day  or  two, 
she   said  that,    as,    with  the  sole  exception  of  Charlotte 
Leycester,  all  who  had  shared  her  earlier  life  had  passed 
away,  she  could  not  oppose  my  wish  that  the  simple  expe- 
rience of  her  own  life,  and  God's  guidance  in  her  case, 
might,   if  I  thought  it  could  be  so,   be  made  useful  for 
others.     And,    as    she    has    accustomed    herself   to    tins 
thought,    she   has  lately  taken   real   pleasure  in  it.     She 
laughs  at  what  she  calls  my  '  building  her  mausoleum  in 
her  lifetime, '  but  has  almost  grown,  I  think,  to  look  upon 
her  own  life  and  her  own  experience  as  if  it  were  that  of 
another  in  whom  she  was  interested,  and  to  read  it  and 
hear  it  in  the  same  way.     She  has  given  me  many  journals 
and  letters  of  various  kinds  which  I  might  use,  and  has 
directed  the  arrangement  of  others.     I  have  already  written 
the  two  earliest  chapters  of  her  married  life,  and  read  most 
of  them  to  her,  but  she  stopped  me  at  last,  saying  that 
they  interested  her  too  deeply.     She  frequently  asks  now 
— '  Are  you  writing  the  Memorials,   or  only  "  Walks  in 
Rome"?'   and  it  is  a  proof  how  clear  her  understanding 
still  is,  that  some  weeks  ago  she  wisely  directed  me,  if  the 
work  was  ever  carried  out.  to  evade  all  wearying  discus- 


536  THE   STORY    OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

BioD  by  consulting  qo  one,  and  thai  I  should  on  no  account 
show  it   tn  ;in\  one  of  the   family,  especially  the  Stanleys, 
till   it   was   finished,    when   they   might  judge  of  it  as  a 
tie. 

"Sometimes  the  dear  Mother  has  herself  heen  able  to 
write  Miiiic  nt  her  '  Ricordi,'  as  she  calls  them,  and,  with 
her  trembling  hand,  lias  filled  a  whole  little  volume  with 
the  recollections  of  her  youth,  hut  this  has  often  been  too 

much    tor  her Vt'ter  her  tea  at  four  o'clock,  I   have 

generally  read  some  story  to  her  till  she  has  gone  to  bed, 
and  after  that  a  chapter  and  some  hymns.  There  is  a 
passage  in  one  of  George  Eliot's  autobiographical  sonnets, 
in  which,  referring  to  her  mother,  she  speaks  of  '  the  bene- 
diction of  her  gaze; '  how  often  have  I  experienced  this! " 

"  Nov.  4.  Last  night  I  read  to  the  Mother  Luke  xvii. 
and  a  hymn  on  "  Res1  "  which  she  asked  for.  When  I  was 
going  to  wish  her  good-night  she  said  —  kI  do  hope, 
darling,  I  am  not  like  the  ungrateful  lepers.  I  try  to  be 
always  praising  God,  but  I  know  that  I  can  never  praise 
Him  enough  for  His  many,  many  mercies  to  me.'  I  could 
not  hut  feel,  in  the  alarm  afterwards,  if  my  dearest  Mother 
never  spoke  to  me  again,  what  beautiful  last  words  those 
would  have  been,  and  how  characteristic  of  her.  Oh,  good- 
ness in  life  brings  us  near  to  God:  not  death!  not  death! 

"At  2  p.m.  1  was  awakened  by  the  dreadful  sound 
which  has  haunted  me  ever  since  the  night  of  March  12 
in  the  Via  Gregoriana  —  of  Lea  rushing  along  the  passage 
and  Hinging  open  the  door  -  'Come  directly  '  —  no  time  for 
more  words  —  and  of  running  through  the  dark  gallery  and 
finding  the  terrible  change  —  another  paralytic  seizure  — 
calling  up  John  and  sending  him  off  to  Battle  for  the 
doctor,  and  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  consoling  her  if  pos- 
sibly conscious,  and  watching  for  the  faint  dawn  of  visible 
life,  that  the  first  words  might  be  tender  ones,  the  first 
look  one  of   love,    .    .    .   and  it  was  so  —  that  my  darling's 


1870]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  537 

first  words  were  something  tender,  indefinite,  but  spoken 
to  me.  The  entire  unconsciousness  was  not  long.  When 
the  doctor  arrived  the  face  was  almost  natural,  but  he  saw 
that  it  had  been  a  regular  seizure.  By  8  a.m.  she  was 
nearly  herself  again,  and  anxious  to  know  what  could 
have  happened.  She  had  been  frightened  by  seeing  the 
doctor.  She  appeared  to  have  no  pain,  and  there  is  no 
additional  injury  to  the  powers.  To-day  has  been  a  con- 
stant watching,  rather  a  warding  off  from  her  of  any  pos- 
sible excitement  than  anything  else.  ...  In  all  the 
anguish  of  anxiety,  I  cannot  be  thankful  enough  for  what 
we  have,  especially  the  freedom  from  pain." 

"  Nov.  9.  No  great  change  —  a  happy  painless  state, 
the  mind  very  feeble,  its  power  gone,  but  peaceful,  lov- 
ing, full  of  patience,   faith,   and  thankfulness." 

"Nov.  16.  And  since  I  wrote  last,  the  great,  the  most 
unutterable  desolation,  so  long  looked  for,  so  often  warded 
off,  has  come  upon  me.  Oh!  while  they  can  still  be 
attained,  let  me  gather  up  the  precious  fragments  that 
remain. 

"On  Thursday  the  10th  my  darling  was  much  better, 
though  her  mind  was  a  little  feeble.  I  felt  then,  as  I  feel 
a  thousand  times  now,  how  extraordinary  people  were  who 
spoke  of  the  trial  my  darling's  mental  feebleness  would  be 
to  me.  It  only  endeared  her  to  me  a  thousandfold  —  her 
gentle  confidence,  her  sweet  clinging  to  me  to  supply  the 
words  and  ideas  which  no  longer  came  unsought,  made 
her  only  more  unspeakably  lovable.  On  that  day  I  remem- 
ber that  my  darling  mentioned  several  times  that  she 
heard  beautiful  music.  This  made  no  impression  on  me 
then. 

"Friday  the  11th,  I  sat,  as  usual,  all  morning  in  her 
room  correcting  my  book.  I  forget  whether  it  was  that 
morning  or  the  next  that  my  darling  on  waking  from  sleep 


538  THE    STORY   OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

said  thai  she  had  had  such  a  pleasant  dream  of  her  child- 
hood  and  Adderley  and  'old  Lady  Corbet,'  who  first 
taught  litr  to  'love  what  was  beautiful.11  At  2  p.m. 
Mother  was  up,  and  sat  in  her  arm-chair  by  the  fire.  She 
was  partly  dressed,  and  wore  her  pretty  old-fashioned  cap 
wiili  the  strings  tied  in  a  bow  on  the  top  of  the  head,  and 
a  little  red  cloak  which  Miss  Wright  had  given  her:  I 
remember  thinking  she  looked  so  pretty,  and  telling  her 
so.  I  was  out  at  first,'  while  she  wrote  a  little  letter  to 
Fanny  Tatton,2  and  talked  to  Lea  about  the  texts  she  had 
been  reading.  At  four,  she  had  her  tea,  and  then  I  sat  at 
her  feet,  and  my  darling  talked  most  sweetly  about  all  the 
places  she  had  admired  most  in  her  life — of  Llangollen  in 
her  childhood,  and  of  Capel  Curig,  of  her  visit  to  Rhianva, 
and  of  many  places  abroad,  Narni  with  its  woods  and 
river,  and  more  especially  Villar  in  the  Vaudois,  of  which 
I  had  been  making  a  drawing,  which  she  had  desired  to 
have  set  up  that  she  might  look  at  it.  Then  she  asked  to 
have  one  of  her  old  journals  read,  and  I  read  one  of  Rome, 
and  she  spoke  of  how  much  happiness,  how  many  bless- 
ings, she  had  connected  with  Rome  also,  though  much 
of  suffering.  She  was  especially  bright  and  sunny.  I 
remember  saying  to  her  playfully,  '  Take  a  little  notice  of 
me,  darling;  you  do  not  take  enough  notice  of  me,'  and 
her  stroking  my  head  and  saying,  'You  dear  child, '  and 
laughing. 

"  At  six  o'.dock  my  sweetest  one  was  put  to  bed. 

•  Afterwards  T  read  to  her  a  chapter  in  St.  Luke  —  '  Let 
this  cup  pass  from  me,'  &c,  and  sat  in  her  room  till  half- 
past  nine.      When  I  went  downstairs  I  kissed  her  and  said, 

1  "  When  the  thoughts  of  youth  return,  fresh  as  the  scent  of  new- 
gathered  blossoms,  to  the  tired  old  age  which  has  so  long  forgotten 
them,  the  coming  of  Death  is  seldom  very  distant."  —  Ouida,  "  In 
1/ nrremma." 

A   much-loved  cousin  and  friend;   her  mother  was  a  Grey,  and 
ray  Mother's  first  cousin. 


1870]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  539 

'Have  a  good  good  night,  darling.'  I  cannot  recollect 
that  she  spoke,  but  I  remember  looking  back  as  I  opened 
the  door,  and  seeing  my  sweet  Mother  lying  on  her  side  as 
she  always  did,  and  her  dear  eyes  following  me  with  a 
more  than  usually  tender  expression  as  I  left  the  room. 

"I  have  often  thought  since  of  a  sentence  in  Carlyle's 
*  Life  of  Sterling  ' — '  Softly,  as  a  common  evening,  the  last 
of  our  evenings  passed  away,  and  no  other  would  come  to 
me  for  evermore. ' 

"  When  I  went  upstairs  again  at  half -past  ten,  I  went, 
as  I  always  did,  to  listen  at  her  door,  and,  hearing  a  noise, 
went  in.  Terrible  illness  had  come  on  and  continued  for 
hours.  .  .  .  The  next  thirty-six  hours  I  never  left  her 
for  an  instant,  and  they  all  seem  to  me  like  one  long 
terrible  night.  I  remember  very  little  distinctly,  but  at 
eight  on  Saturday  morning  she  was  certainly  much  better. 
The  doctor  came  at  ten,  and  she  was  able  to  speak  to  him. 
He  looked  very  grave  over  the  lowness  of  her  pulse,  but 
she  continued  better  for  some  hours,  and  slept  a  great  deal 
in  the  afternoon.  Towards  evening  I  thought  her  not  so 
well,  though  the  doctor,  who  came  at  half -past  nine,  con- 
sidered her  state  much  less  anxious.  I  was  then  possessed 
with  the  feeling  that  our  parting  was  very  near.  Lea  also 
called  me  downstairs  to  hear  the  extraordinary  sound  that 
was  going  on.  It  was  indeed  strange.  It  was  as  if  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  crickets  were  all  chirping  together. 
Thej^  appeared  everywhere  in  swarms  on  the  hearths 
downstairs.  The  noise  was  so  great  that  I  felt  if  it  con- 
tinued we  should  be  driven  out  of  the  place :  it  was  quite 
deafening;  but  they  only  came  that  night,  they  never 
were  heard  before,  and  the  next  day  they  had  totally 
disappeared.1     I  persuaded  Lea  to  lie  down  on  her  bed, 

1  This  is  said  often  to  happen  in  case  of  a  death.  At  Holmhurst  it 
was  most  remarkable.  They  never  appeared  after  that  night  till  the 
night  of  October  18, 1882,  when  my  dear  old  nurse  was  dying.  I  have 
been  laughed  at  for  narrating  this,  but  the  noise  of  crickets  at  a  death 


540  THE    STORY   OF  MY   LIFE  [1870 

where  she  soon  Ml  asleep.  All  through  the  night  I  sat 
li\  in\  darling  on  the  pillow.  I  think  the  last  thing  she 
said  was  that  the  other  arm,  the  well  arm,  pained  her  very 
much,  and  we  feared  paralysis,  but  more  pressing  symp- 
toms diverted  attention.  At  half-past  one  1  called  Lea 
again.  I  shall  never  know  in  this  world  whether  my 
Mother  was  reall\  conscious,  if  she  even  knew  anything 
either  of  her  own  great  physical  suffering,  or  of  what 
passed  that  night.  1  believe  God  helped  me  to  say  and  do 
all  she  would  have  wished.  Each  hour  1  was  more  sure 
of  what  was  coming.  Towards  dawn,  kneeling  on  the 
bed,  1  said  some  of  the  short  players  in  the  Visitation  of 
the  Sick,  but  she  was  then  fading  rapidly,  and  at  last-  I 
repeated  the  hymn,  '  How  I  night  those  glorious  spirits 
shine, '  which  we  had  always  agreed  was  never  to  be  used 
except  as  the  solemn  sign  that  our  parting  was  surely 
come.  1  am  not  sure  if  my  darling  knew  that  she  was 
dying  before:  I  am  sure,  if  she  could  still  hear,  that  she 
knew  it  then.  I  am  sure  that  she  was  conscious  at  the 
end  and  that  she  speechlessly  took  leave  of  us.  Her 
expression  was  calm  and  serene,  but  very  grave,  as  if  she 
realised  for  the  first  time  that  I  might  not  travel  with  her 
into  the  solitude  she  was  entering.  It  was  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  the  end  that  all  suffering  ceased,  her 
paralysed  side  seemed  to  become  quite  well;  the  lame 
hand,  which  had  been  so  tightly  clenched  since  the  13th 
of  March,  unfolded  then  upon  the  13th  of  November,  and 
gently  met  the  other  in  prayer.  The  eyes  were  closing, 
but  opened  once  more  —  as  a  look  —  a  look  of  youth  and 
radiance,  stole  over  the  beloved  features  at  the  last,  when 
there  was  no  struggle,  only  just  a  gentle  sigh  or  two. 
Lea,  who  was  leaning  over  the  bed  on  the  other  side,  held 
her  spectacles  to  the  mouth.  There  was  no  breath.  I 
could  scarcely  believe  that  she  was  gone.     I  still  held  her 

is  spoken  of  in  Ecclesiastes  xii.  5  —  "And  the  grasshopper  shall  be  a 
burden,  because  yuan  goelh  to  his  long  home." 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  541 

in  my  arms.  But  oh!  in  my  unutterable  desolation  I 
could  give  God  thanks  that  the  end  was  like  this.  The 
first  stroke  of  the  church-bell  sounded  as  she  passed  into 
the  real  life. 

"  When  the  sweet  eyes  closed  and  the  dear  face  lost  its 
last  shadow  of  colour,  I  kissed  my  own  Mother  for  the  last 
time  and  came  away.  The  first  snow-flakes  of  winter 
were  falling  then.  They  do  not  signify  now:  no  snow  or 
cold  can  ever  signify  any  more. 

"But  oh!  the  agony,  the  anguish! 

"And  since  then  her  precious  earthly  form  has  been 
lying,  with  her  hands  folded  on  her  breast  as  if  she  were 
praying  —  the  dear  lame  hand  quite  well  now.  The  room 
is  draped  with  white  and  filled  with  flowers.  Two  large 
white  camellias  stand  at  the  head  of  the  bed  and  over- 
shadow her  pillow,  and  on  the  table,  draped  with  white, 
are  her  own  particular  objects,  her  bronze  wolf,  her  little 
gold  tray  with  her  spectacles,  smelling-bottle,  &c,  and  all 
her  special  hymn-books.  At  first  when  I  went  in,  in  my 
great  agony,  I  did  not  draw  down  the  sheet.  But  now  I 
draw  it  down  and  look  at  my  dearest  one.  There  is  a 
look  of  unearthly  serene  repose  upon  the  worn  features, 
which  is  almost  too  beautiful. 

" '  Days  without  night,  joys  without  sorrow,  sanctity 
without  sin,  charity  without  stain,  possession  without 
fear,  satiety  without  envyings,  communication  of  joys 
without  lessening,  and  they  shall  dwell  in  a  blessed 
country,  where  an  enemy  never  entered,  and  from  whence 
a  friend  never  went  away. ' 1 

"  But  yet  —  oh  my  darling !  my  darling !  " 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"Sunday  morning,  Nov.  13.  My  darling  Mother  has 
entered  into  the  real  life. 

"  She  grew  gradually  weaker  hour  by  hour,  and  I  think 

1  Jeremy  Taylor. 


542  THE   STORY   OF   MY    LIFE  [1870 

she  Buffered  Less.  She  knew  me  always,  and  liked  to  keep 
her  eyes  constantly  fixed  upon  me,  but  she  eould  not 
speak.  At  balf-pasl  nine,  she  seemed  sinking,  and  I 
repeated  over  to  her,  as  she  desired  me  to  do  when  slie 
was  dying,  the  hymn  'How  bright  those  glorious  spirits 
shine. '  I  think  she  heard  it.  .  .  .  Soon  after  she  opened 
hi  r  eyes  and  gave  me  a  long,  long  look  of  her  own  perfect 
lovingness,  then  turned  to  Lea,  to  me  again,  and  we  heard 
a  I'.w  gentle  sighs.  I  had  just  time  to  ring  the  bell  close 
to  mi\  hand  as  I  sat  on  the  pillow,  and  as  John  and  Harriet1 
(who  had  been  waiting  in  the  passage)  passed  sobbing  into 
the  room  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  my  sweet  darling 
gently  breathed  her  last  in  m\  arms,  once  more  —  quite  at 
the  Last-  -opening  her  eyes,  with  a  look  of  perfect  bliss, 
as  if  gazing  at  something  beyond  us.  It  was  so  gentle  a 
breathing  out  of  her  spirit,  we  scarcely  knew  when  it  was 
over.  She  died  in  my  arms,  with  my  kiss  upon  her  fore- 
head, at  half-past  ten.  I  know  how  tenderly  my  Mother's 
dearest,  most  tenderly  loved  friend  feels  for  me,  and  that 
I  need  not  ask  her  to  pray  for  my  Mother's  poor  child 
Augustus." 

" Nov.  14.  It  seems  so  strange  to  look  out  on  the 
window  and  see  the  same  sheep  feeding  in  the  same  green 
meadows,  the  same  (lowers  blooming,  and  yet  such  a 
change  over  all.  I  feel  as  if  it  were  I  who  had  died 
yesterday. 

"What  a  long,  long  day  it  was!  A  thousand  times  I 
was  on  the  point  of  running  into  the  room  to  say  some 
little  Loving  word  to  her  who  has  been  the  recipient  of 
every  thought,  every  pleasure  for  so  many,  many  years, 
and  then  the  crushing  blank,  the  annihilation  came  all 
afresh.  Indeed,  I  feel  it  afresh  every  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  when  1  am  calmed  after  one  thing  in  which  my  great 
desolation  is  especially  presented  to  me,    something  else 

1   Barriel  Bentley,  Leu's  niece  —  her  much-attached  housemaid. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  543 

calls  it  all  forth  again.  Oh,  my  darling !  my  darling !  can 
it  be  ?  oh !  how  can  it  be  ? 

"The  dear  earthly  form  lies  with  its  hands  sweetly 
folded  as  if  she  were  praying.  I  go  in  often.  I  am 
always  going  in;  but  it  does  not  remind  me  of  her,  though 
it  is  most  peaceful,  and  the  servants  and  others  have  the 
greatest  comfort  from  looking  at  it. 

"  It  is  as  a  dream  that  yesterday  morning,  quite  after  it 
was  over,  I  could  say,  w  The  day  before  yesterday  my  darl- 
ing did  this,  my  darling  said  that.'  On  Friday  she  was 
so  bright,  so  happy,  only  her  memory  a  little  astray,  but 
I  was  already  forming  a  thousand  little  schemes  for  supply- 
ing this  lost  power,  so  that  it  should  not  be  apparent  to 
others,  and  to  me  nothing,  I  felt,  could  ever  matter  if  the 
sunshine  of  my  dear  Mother's  sweet  presence  was  with 
me  under  any  change." 

"  Tuesday,  Nov.  15.  Your  most  dear  letter  has  come. 
.  .  .  How  much,  even  in  the  first  anguish  of  my  desola- 
tion, I  have  felt  what  it  would  be  to  you  also.  You  will 
always  be  most  tenderly  entwined  with  her  sacred  memory; 
indeed,  I  can  scarcely  think  of  you  apart.  For  the  last 
few  years  especially  your  companionship  has  been  her 
greatest  joy,  and  in  your  absence  she  has  never  passed 
many  hours  without  speaking  of  you,  never  any,  I  think, 
without  thinking  of  you.  The  grief  she  most  dreaded  was 
that  she  might  have  to  mourn  for  you,  for  I  think  she 
rightly  felt  that  —  great  as  the  sorrow  would  be  —  your 
physical  powers  would  enable  you  to  bear  the  separation 
better  than  she  could  have  done. 

"  This  morning  I  feel  a  little  better,  and  can  dwell  more 
upon  my  darling's  being  perfected,  upon  the  restoration 
of  all  her  powers,  upon  her  reunion  to  those  she  loved  in 
former  times  of  her  life;  and  I  have  a  perfect  treasure- 
store  in  my  journals  for  years  of  her  sacred  words  of  bless- 
ing, and  advice,  and  thought  for  me,  many  of  them,  T 
know,   intended  to  be  my  comfort  now. 


544  THE   STORY  OF   MY    LIFE  L 1 870 

"I  will  send  you  many  of  the  letters  about  her.  I 
wonder  wh\  people  should  dread  letters  of  sympathy.  To 
me  the  letters  are  nothing,  hut  what  I  long  for  is  not  to 
hear  thai  people  sympathise  with  me,  but  to  know  how 
they    loved    her. 

•  Co-da}    it   is  thick  snow.     Oh!  she  would  have  been 

80   ill  ;   now   she   is   not  ill." 

"  Tuesday  evening,  Nov.  15.  To-day  a  change  came 
over  the  dear  face  — a  look  of  unspeakable  repose  and 
beauty  such  as  I  never  saw  on  any  face  before.  The  ser- 
vants told  me  of  it.  and  so  it  was;  it  is  the  most  wonderful 
expression — serene,  solemn,  holy  beauty. 

"  All  the  letters  are  a  great  — not  comfort  —  nothing  can 
ever  he  that,  hut  I  like  to  see  how  she  was  loved,  and  I 
Look  forward  to  them.  There  were  thirty  to-day,  and  yet 
I  though!  no  one  could  know.  What  comes  home  to  one 
is  simple  sympathy.  One  cannot  help  envying  the  people 
wh.»  can  he  comforted  in  real  sorrow  by  what  one  may  call 
Evangelical  topics.  It  seems  so  perfectly  irrelative  to 
hear  that  '  man  is  born  to  trouble,'  that  w  it  is  God  that 
ehasteneth,'  &C. 

"I  recollect  now  that  on  Saturday  morning  I  was 
obliged  to  scud  off  some  proof-sheets.1  She  asked  what  I 
was  doing,  and  then  said,  c  I  shall  so  enjoy  reading  it 
when  it  is  all  finished,  but  I  must  have  my  little  desk  out 
thru,  because  I  shall  not  be  able  to  hold  the  book.'  We 
have  only  just  remembered  this,  which  proves  that  there 
must  have  been  a  slight  rally  then.  It  was  all  so  short, 
so  bewildering  at  last,  that  things  will  only  come  back 
gradually. 

"I  shall  be  glad  when  the  incessant  noise  of  workmen2 
downstairs  ceases.  It  is  so  incongruous  in  the  house  now, 
but   could   not  be  helped.     My  darling  did  not  mind  it; 

1  Of  "Walks  in  Rome." 

-  Patting  up  a  heating  apparatus  in  the  passages. 


1870] 


LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER 


545 


indeed  it  seems  to  me,  on  looking  back,  as  if  she  never 
found  fault  with  anything;  often  she  did  not  hear  it,  and 
when  she  did,  '  I  like  that  pleasant  sound, '  she  said. " 

"Nov.  16.  There  were  forty  letters  to-day,  many  want- 
ing answers,  so  I  can  only  write  a  little,  but  it  is  a  com- 
fort to  me  to  send  you  any  memories  of  those  precious  last 


THE    CHURCH    LANE,    HURSTMONCEAUX. 


days  as  they  occur  to  me,  and  as  the  first  mist  of  anguish 
clears  up,  so  many  things  recur. 

"  You  asked  about  Romo.  Indeed  it  overwhelms  me  to 
think  of  it.  The  dear  little  beast  is  so  touching  in  his 
attempts  to  comfort  me.  He  comes  and  licks  my  hand 
and  rubs  himself  against  me,  as  he  never  was  in  the  habit 
of  doing.  In  the  first  sad  moments  after  the  dear  eyes 
closed,  Lea,  by  an  old  Northern  custom,  would  send  down 
to  '  tell  the  dog  and  the  bees  '  (the  bees  would  have  died, 
she  thinks,  if  they  had  not  been  told),  and  Romo  under- 
stood it  all,  and  did  not  howl,  but  cried  plaintively  all 
morning. 

vol.  ii.  —  35 


546  THE  STORY   OF   MV    LIFE  [1870 

"I  forget  whether  I  spoke  of  the  music.  For  the  last 
four  days  my  darling  had  said  at  intervals  that  she  heard 
beautiful  music.  Thursday  and  Friday  I  thought  nothing 
of  it;   on  Saturday  it  began  to  have  a  solemn  meaning. 

"  I  have  lieen  to-day  to  Ilurstmoneeaux.  It  was  neces- 
Sary.  'There  was  deep  snow  the  first  part  of  the  way,  but 
beyond  Battle  no  snow  at  all,  leaves  still  on  the  trees,  and 
quite  a  summer  look.  It  was  more  overpowering  to  me 
than  I  expected  to  pass  Lime,  and  I  almost  expected  to 
see  her  come  across  the  held  and  open  the  wricket-gate  to 
her  beloved  walk  to  the  school.  The  Haringtons1  were 
most  kind  in  placing  Ilurstmoneeaux  Place  at  our  disposal 
lor  the  funeral,  and  removed  all  scruples  about  it  by  say- 
in-  how  really  thankful  they  were  to  be  able  to  show  their 
affection  for  the  Mother  in  that  way.  I  went  up  twice  to 
the  church.  The  road  thither  and  the  churchyard  looked 
most  beautiful,  and  the  spot  chosen,  on  the  edge  towards 
tin'  level,  with  the  view  she  always  thought  so  like  the 
Carnpagna.  1  am  allowed  to  enclose  a  little  space  which 
will  contain  my  grave  also. 

"I  called  on  Mrs.  W.  Isted,2  and  found  her  quite  over- 
powered, sitting  with  my  darling's  photograph.  k  It  is 
not  only  her  own  loss,  dearly  as  I  loved  her,  but  the  deaths 
of  all  my  others  come  back  to  me,  which  she  helped  me  to 
bear/" 

'"  Nov.  17.  Do  you  know  that  through  a  mist  of  tears  I 
have  been  forced  to  go  on  sending  off  proof-sheets  of 
'  Walks  in  Rome'?  One  of  the  last  things  she  spoke  of 
was  her  hope  that  I  would  not  let  her  illness  hinder  the 
ik.  The  dedication  to  her,  already  printed,  will  seem 
touching  to  those  who  read  it.  She  herself  read  that  when 
the  fust  volume  was  finished.     But  her  great  pleasure  of 

The  tenants  of  Ilurstinonceaux  Place,  the  old  home  of  the  family. 
-  A    poor   woman    ;it    "Lime   Cross,"  constantly  visited   by   my 
Mi  ther. 


1870]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  547 

the  last  few  weeks  was  in  the  chapters  of  the  '  Memorials  ' 
which  I  was  writing  of  her  Alton  life.  To  continue  them 
with  the  copious  materials  she  has  left  will  now  be  my  one 
great  interest.  She  has  left  me  perfectly  free  to  make 
what  use  I  like  of  all,  and  one  clay  made  me  write  down 
from  her  dictation  an  expression  to  that  effect.  The  Alton 
life  is  certainly  the  most  perfect  ideal  of  a  country  clergy- 
man's life  that  can  well  be  conceived." 

"Nov.  19.  I  cannot  leave  home  yet.  .  .  .  Leycester, 
Mamie,  and  many  others  have  written,  as  she  always  said 
they  would,  that  their  hearts  and  houses  are  open  to 
receive  me,  but  this  must  be  later.  Id  deed,  I  shall  cling 
to  all  she  loved,  and  in  the  ever-living  remembrance  of 
her  shall  be  able  to  love  all.  I  had  even  a  kind  note  from 
Mrs.  Maurice1  to-day:  she  said  I  should. 

"Henry  Papillon  came  yesterday,  touchingly  wishful  to 
look  upon  the  dear  face  once  more,  and  he  was  even  more 
struck  than  I  expected  with  its  immortal  beauty.  .  .  . 
To-day  was  a  great  wrench.  This  morning  the  precious 
earthly  form  was  sealed  away  from  us." 

"Nov.  22.  I  went  through  yesterday  in  a  dream.  I 
did  not  realise  it  at  all.  Lea  left  Holmhurst  in  an  agony 
of  sobs  and  tears,  but  I  did  not;  I  had  so  often  thought 
of  it,  I  seemed  to  have  gone  through  it  all  before,  and 
then  I  had  already  lost  sight  of  my  darling. 

"  Lea,  John,  Johnnie  Cornford,  and  I  went  in  the  little 
carriage  first ;  Harriet,  Anne,  Rogers,  Joe,  and  Margaret 
Cornford2  followed  her.  We  reached  Hurstmonceaux 
Place  about  half -past  twelve.  In  half-an-hour  they  all 
began  to  arrive:  each  and  all  of  my  dear  cousins  were 
most  kind  to  me." 

1  My  father's  half-sister,  who  had  seldom  treated  me  even  with 
humanity. 

2  All  old  servants. 


548  THE   STORY  OF   MY  LIFE  [1870 

Joi  i:\.\i.  (The  Green  Book). 

"Dec.  4.  1870.  I  have  been  unable  to  write  in  my 
journal;  the  hundred  and  ninety-two  letters  which  I  have 
had  to  answer  have  taken  all  the  time.  .  .  .  And  I  live 
still.  I  used  to  think  I  could  not  live,  but  I  am  not  e\en 
ill:  and  yet  how  my  life  is  changed,  all  the  interest,  all 
the  happiness,  all  the  sunshine  gone,  only  the  systematic 
routine  of  existence  left. 

"My  poor  Lea  is  already  beginning  to  be  interested  in 
her  chickens  and  her  farm-life,  and  to  think  it  all  '  such  a 
lono-  time  ago.'  But  to  me  it  seems  as  if  it  had  only  just 
happened,  and  the  hour  in  which  her  sweet  eyes  closed 
upon  me  lias  swallowed  up  all  the  hours  which  have  come 
since,  and  is  always  the  last  hour  to  me. 

"  1  think  it  was  about  the  third  day  afterwards  that 
Lea  came  into  my  room  and  told  me  that  the  look  of  won- 
derful beauty  and  repose  which  appeared  at  the  last  had 
come  back  again  to  the  dear  features.  And  so  it  was. 
It  was  the  sweetest  look  of  calm,  serene  repose.  The 
ci ^i air  had  all  faded  out  of  my  darling's  cheeks,  which 
had  lost  every  sign  of  age.  and  were  smooth  and  white  as 
if  they  were  chiselled  in  marble.  Her  closed  eyelids,  her 
gently  curving  mouth  expressed  the  sweetest  restfulness. 
The  dear  lame  hand,  quite  supple  at  last,  had  closed  softly 
upon  the  other.  And  this  lovely  image  of  her  perfected 
state  was  lent  to  me  till  the  last,  when  the  beloved 
features  were  closed  away  from  me  for  ever. 

"It  was  mi  the  Saturday  that  Lea  and  I  went  in  together 
for  the  last  time.  Lea  cried  violently.  1  was  beyond 
tears.  We  covered  away  together  all  that  was  dearest  to 
us  on  earth.  I  placed  a  lock  of  my  hair  in  her  hands, 
and  laid  her  favourite  flowers  by  her.  Monday  a  day  of 
ruin  and  storm-cloud.  I  shall  always  associate  the  road 
to  Hnrstmonceaux  with  the  drive  on  that  winter's  morn- 
ing with  swirling  rain-clouds,  and  the  waters  out  on  the 
distant    Levels  gleaming  white  through  the    mist.      Com- 


1870]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  549 

ing  down  the  hill  near  Boreham  how  mary  memories  of 
my  dearest  one  came  back  to  me,  —  of  her  anxiety  to  put 
me  out  to  walk  at  Standard  Hill,  —  of  her  admiration  of 
the  three  pines  on  the  hill-top;  and  then,  near  Lime,  of 
walks  with  her  on  dewy  summer  mornings,  when  I  went 
with  her  in  my  childhood  to  pick  ground-ivy  and  violets 
in  the  fields  behind  Lime  Cross. 

"  The  coffin  lay  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing-room  at 
Hurstmonceaux  Place,  upon  a  high  raised  stand  draped 
with  white.  All  around  it  hung  a  lovely  wreath  of 
flowers  from  Holmhurst,  and  at  the  foot  masses  of  flowers 
kindly  sent  by  the  present  owners  of  Lime.  Mrs.  H. 
Papillon l  had  sent  a  beautiful  cross  of  white  chrysanthe- 
mums, and  some  one  else  a  wreath,  and  in  the  centre, 
linking  all  with  a  reminiscence  of  her  sister  Lucy,  lay  a 
bunch  of  withered  violets  from  Abbots  Kerswell.  Here, 
over  the  coffin  of  her  whose  life  was  perfect  peace,  the  two 
great  enemies  in  the  parish  of  Hurstmonceaux  shook  hands 
and  were  reconciled. 

"  At  two  the  eighteen  bearers,  all  chosen  from  labourers 
whom  she  had  known,  filed  in  in  their  white  smock  frocks 
and  took  up  the  precious  burden.  Lea  and  I  followed 
immediately,  then  Leycester,  Vere,  and  Emmie  Penrhyn; 
Arthur,  Augusta,  and  Mary  Stanley;  Morgan  and  Mamie 
Yeatman;  Dr.  Vaughan,  Frederick  Fisher,  Mrs.  Hale, 
and  a  long  line  of  neighbours,  clergy,  and  servants,  walk- 
ing two  and  two. 

"Down  the  well-known  avenue  and  lanes,  the  bearers 
advanced,  looking  like  a  great  band  of  choristers.  I  saw 
nothing,  but  some  of  the  others  remarked  that  as  we  came 
away  from  the  house  a  beautiful  silver  cloud  and  rainbow 
appeared  over  it. 

"  Arthur  and  Augusta  left  the  procession  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  and  passed  on  before ;  so  he  met  us  at  the  gate. 

"In  the  centre  of  the  chancel,   where  I  had  seen  the 
1  A  neighbour  and  the  wife  of  an  old  college  friend. 


550  THE   STORY   OF  MY  LIFE  [1870 

coffin  of  Uncle  Julius,  there  the  coffin  of  my  own  darling 
lay,  but  it  was  covered  with  no  gloomy  pall,  only  gar- 
landed   with   flowers,    the  garlands  of  her  new  life. 

"At  the  grave,  Lea  stood  on  one  side  of  me,  Emmie  on 
the  other.  Arthur  read  most  touchingly,  and  in  the 
words  of  that  service  one  was  lifted  up,  not  drawn  down: 
lnii  indeed  I  felt  it  very  little,  I  only  saw  it  in  a  dream. 

"Afterwards  1  think  they  all  came  up  and  kissed  me. 
Then  they  went  away,  and  Lea  and  I  walked  back  alone 
through  the  shrubbery  to  Hurstmonceaux  Place,  and  so 
came  Inane. 

"  To  our  most  desolate  home. 

"On  the  Saturday  after  we  went  to  Hurstmonceaux 
again.  The  Sunday  services  at  the  church  were  most 
beautiful.  In  the  morning  'How  bright  those  glorious 
spirits  shine  '  was  sung,  and  in  the  evening,  almost  in  the 
dark,  *  Pilgrims  of  the  night.'  Mr.  Munn1  preached  on 
'  Bury  me  with  my  fathers — in  the  cave  of  Machpelah, ' 
&c,  speaking  of  how  she  was  brought  from  a  distant 
place,  and  how.  in  foreign  lands,  her  great  wish  had  been 
to  be  laid  at  Hurstmonceaux,  and  so  to  what  I  wished  of 
the  peculiar  connection  of  my  darling's  life  with  Hurst- 
monceaux,  and  of  how  the  different  scenes  in  the  parish 
which  called  up  the  remembrance  of  her  sweet  words  and 
acts  connected  with  them,  might  also  call  up  the  recollec- 
tion of  those  truths  to  which  her  gentle  life  was  a  living 
witness.  When  Lea  and  I  went  out  to  the  grave  after- 
wards, we  found  two  poor  women  —  Mrs.  Medhurst  and 
Mrs.  Harmer  —  standing  there  dressed  in  black,  and  the 
little  mound  covered  with  flowers. 

"  I  saw  it  once  again  next  day,  and  made  a  little  wall 
of  holly  and  ivy  round  it.  Oh,  my  darling! — and  then 
we  returned  here  again,  to  the  ordinary  life,  only  the 
door  of  the  sacred  chamber  stands   open,    and  the  room 

1  Rector  of  Ashburnham. 


1870]  LAST   YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  551 

is  cold  and  empty,  and  my  heart  and  my  life  are  desolate. 
'  The  sanctuary  of  sorrow '  seems  to  me  an  expression  full 
of  significance." 

To  Miss  Leycester. 

"  Holmhurst,  Dec.  1,  1870.  Madame  de  Stael  shows 
how  she  must  have  suffered  when  she  wrote  — '  Le  r^ veil, 
quel  moment  pour  les  malheureux !  '  To-day  is  the  first 
of  a  month  in  which  my  darling  has  no  share:  each  day 
there  is  something  in  which  I  seem  to  part  with  her 
afresh.  My  life  is  so  changed  that  it  seems  impossible  to 
believe  that  it  is  such  a  short  time  since  I  was  so  happy  — 
only,  between  the  present  dumb  blank  and  the  happy  time 
are  those  terrible  thirty-six  hours  of  illness,  and  in  the 
thought  of  them  1  am  more  than  satisfied  that  she  cannot 
go  through  them  again.  Each  minute  of  those  hours 
comes  back  to  me  now  so  vividly  —  the  acuteness  of  the 
numb  misery,  which  really  had  no  hope,  with  the  determi- 
nation that  she  should  see  nothing  but  smiles  to  the  last, 
for  my  whole  life  afterwards  would  be  long  enough  for 
tears. 

"  Poor  Lea  sits  with  me  now  for  an  hour  every  day  after 
tea,  and  we  talk  of  every  moment  of  those  last  days. 

"It  is  most  bitterly  cold:  she  would  have  been  so  ill." 

"  Dec.  17.  Mrs.  Tom  Brassey  passed  me  to-day,  riding 
with  a  party.  She  made  them  go  on,  and  stopped  to 
speak  to  me,  then  burst  into  tears,  and  spoke  most  feel- 
ingly of  old  Brassey's  death,  to  whom  I  believe  she  was 
truly  attached.  Then  she  revealed  the  enormous  wealth 
to  which  they  have  fallen  heirs.  They  expected  to  have 
no  more,  as  the  father  had  already  given  each  of  his  sons 
an  immense  sum,  but  old  Mr.  Brassey  has  left  six  mil- 
lions !  She  feels  the  awful  responsibility  of  such  a  heri- 
tage, and  spoke  admirably  and  touchingly  —  said  she 
trusted  each  of  the  three  brothers  would  set  out  with  the 


552  THE  STORY  OF   MY   LIFE  [1870 

determination  to  spend  it  worthily  of  their  father,  and 
then  of  all  their  plans  already  made  for  the  good  of  others. 
It  seemed  odd  to  come  hack  from  discussing  all  this  to 
the  great  anxiety  as  to  whether  my  income  would  amount 
to  £500,  and  if  I  should  be  able  to  live  on  at  Holmhurst. 

"  It  is  actually  five  weeks  this  evening  since  my  darling 
wa>  here,  and  wc  were  entering  upon  the  utter  anguish  of 
that  Last  night.  Sometimes  the  agony  comes  hack  to  me, 
so  that  I  am  obliged  to  do  something  which  requires  close 
attention  to  set  it  aside;  hut  at  other  times  —  generally  — 
I  can  think  with  composure  of  the  five  weeks  she  has  spent 
well,  and  warm,  and  happy." 

Mrs.  Aknold  to  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare. 

"Dingle  Bank,  Nov.  21,  1870.  You  will  he  in  such 
deep  -lief  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  write  to  you;  and 
wt  I  so  loved  the  dear  Mother  you  have  lost,  so  reverenced 
her  goodness  and  sweetness  and  holiness,  that  I  cannot 
hut  hope  you  may  like  a  few  words  from  me  of  truest 
sympathy,  and  indeed  I  can  feel  for  you.  To  those  at  a 
distance  it  is  the  thought  of  a  dear  friend  transplanted 
from  earth  to  heaven,  hut  to  you  there  is  the  thought  of 
the  daily  companionship,  the  loving  nursing,  the  perpetual 
consciousness  of  what  you  were  to  her.  In  this,  however, 
in  the  sense  of  the  continual  help  and  comfort  and  love 
that  she  received  from  you.  will  be  your  great  consolation. 

"I  have  never  lost  the  impression  made  on  me  by  her 
own  more  than  resignation  when  she  spoke  to  me  at  Kugby 
of  her  own  separation  from  what  was  dearest  to  her  upon 
earth — there  seemed  such  joy  in  his  happiness,  such  a 
realising  of  it  to  herself,  that  earthly  clouds  and  shadows 
disappeared. 

"I  will  not  say  more  now,  but  for  her  dear  sake,  and 
that  of  my  long  and  affectionate  interest  in  you,  I  hope 
yon  will  sometimes  let  me  hear  of  you." 


1870]  LAST  YEARS   WITH   THE   MOTHER  553 

Lady  Eastlake  to  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare. 

"  7  Fitzroy  Square,  Dec.  4.  I  have  seen  a  notice  in  the 
Times  which  has  sent  a  pang  through  my  heart,  and  hasten 
to  tell  you  how  intensely  I  feel  for  you.  None  but  those 
who  know  the  bitterness  of  a  great  sorrow  can  really 
sympathise  with  you,  for  only  they  can  measure  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  suffering.  I  know  of  no  conso- 
lation but  the  conviction  that  God  knows  all  and  does  all, 
and  that  He  will  reunite  in  His  good  time  to  the  Beloved 
One.  Sorrow  is  a  mighty  force,  and  its  fruit  ought  to  be 
commensurate :  we  sow  truly  in  tears,  but  the  reaping  in 
joy  is,  I  believe,  reserved  for  another  state.  Still  there  is 
much  to  be  done  by  sorrow's  husbandry  even  here,  and 
assuredly  were  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  to  be  attained  with- 
out suffering,  God  would  not  put  His  poor  children 
through  it. 

"  I  fear  that  life  must  look  very  joyless  before  you,  and 
that  all  things  for  a  time  must  seem  altered,  your  very 
self  most  so.  I  can  only  say,  be  patient  with  yourself,  and 
take  every  mitigation  that  offers  itself.  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  hear  from  you  when  you  have  heart  and  leisure. 
You  have  seen  me  in  bitter  anguish,  and  will  not  be  shy 
of  one  who  has  drunk  of  that  cup  to  the  very  dregs.  God's 
holy  will  be  done !  " 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Aberdeen,  John,  7th  Earl  of,  ii. 

246. 
Ackermann,  Felix,  i.  28,  76,  125, 

562,  563,  574  ;  ii.  124,  254-258. 
Ackermann,    Madame     Victoire, 

i.  24,  25,  26,  27,  28,  81,  76,  268, 

269,  279-282,  563,  574;  ii.  119, 

133,  144, 196,  254-263,  366, 419, 

445,   462,   463,   466,   4S7,   494, 

496. 
Ackermann,     Victoria,    ii.     462, 

464. 
Acland,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  527. 
Acuto,  ii.  137,  149. 
Adeane,  Henry  John,  i.  170. 
Adelaide  de  France,  Madame,  ii. 

229. 
Adelaide,   Queen  of  England,  i. 

229,  233. 
Aitkens,    Mr.,  of  Kingston -Lyle, 

i.  520. 
Alacoque,  Marguerite  Marie,    ii. 

152. 
Albert,   the    Prince    Consort,    i. 

239  ;  ii.  23,  24. 
Albrecht,    Archduke  of   Austria, 

i.  438,  439. 
Alcock,   Mrs.,   story  of,  ii.    307- 

311. 
Alderley,  i.  49,  55 ;  ii.  27,  28. 
Aldermaston,  i.  582. 
Alexander,  Mary  Maiming,  Mrs., 


i.  147,  197-199,  283,  304,  372, 

382,  388,  510. 
Alford,   Henry,  Dean  of  Canter- 
bury, i.  381,  426;  ii.  107-112, 

142,  337-339,  531,  532. 
Alford,  Lady  Marion,  i.  232  ;  ii. 

32,  219,  234,  510. 
Alfriston,  i.  402. 
Alice,  H.  R.  H.  the  Princess,  of 

Hesse,  ii.  24. 
Allan,  Charles  Stuart,  ii.  209. 
Allan,  John  Hay,  ii.  209. 
Alnwick,  ii.  16,  77,  237. 
Alston,  Carlotta,  i.  2. 
Alston,  Mary  Margaret,  i.  2,  4. 
Alton,  Barnes,  i.  35-38,  151,  152, 

220;  ii.  302. 
Amboise,  ii.  194. 
Andersen,  Mr.,  of  Bradley,  ii.  50. 
Angouleme,    Marie    The'rese    de 

France,     Duchesse   d',   ii.    32, 

246. 
Antibes,  ii.  331. 
Antonelli,    Cardinal,    i.    467 ;    ii. 

269. 
Aponte,  Dom  Emmanuele,  i.  6. 
Aram,  Eugene,  ii.  60-62. 
Arcachon,  ii.  169. 
Arkcoll,  Mr.  Thomas,  i.  589,  602. 
Aries,  ii.  322,  362. 
Arnold,  Edward,  ii.  478. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  i.  140. 


558 


INDEX 


\     old,  Mrs.,  i.  1 1'» ;  ii.  177.  178, 

552. 
Arnold,  Dr.  Thomas,  of  Rugby, 

i.  126. 
A  -.    Jean    Marie    Vianney,    le 

Cure'd*,  ii.  130-133,  117.  * 
Are,  visil  to,  ii.  320-322. 
Ashdo^  tie,  i.  590. 
Athelstan,  Mr.,  ii.  10. 
Aumale,  Henri,  Due  d',  ii.  225. 
Am uii.  ii.  472. 


Babington,  .Mrs.   Catherine,  ii. 

76. 
Bacon,  Mrs.  Nicholas,  ii.  348. 
Baden,  Frederick  William,  Grand 

Duke,      and      Louisa,     Grand 

Duchess  of,  ii.  300. 
Baden-Baden,  i.  303. 
Bagot,  Mr.  Charles,  ii.  318. 
it,  Lucia,  Lady.  ii.  237. 
i.  Lord  and  Lady,  ii.  51 1. 
Balcarres,   Colin,  3d  Earl  of,  ii. 

231. 
Balcarres,    James,   5th   Earl   of, 

ii.  231. 
Bamborough    Castle,  ii.   11,  78, 

217,  350. 
Bankhead,  Charles,  secretary  of 

the  Legation  at  Constantinople, 

i.  21,  30. 
Bankhead,  Maria    Horatia  Paul, 

Mrs.,  i.  21,  22,  35,  234. 
Barbera,  Mrs.,  i   75. 
Bar  le  Due,  ii.  181. 
Barnard,  Lady  Anne,  ii.  222,  233, 

171.  175. 
Barnard  Castle,  ii.  11.  66. 
Barraud,     Madame     and    Made- 
moiselle, i.  501,  502,  .".08-510. 
B     rere,  Madame,  ii.  282. 


Harrington,     Hon.    Adelaide,    i. 

519. 
Harrington,  Hon.  Augusta,  i.  519. 
Barrington,    George,    5th      Vis- 
count, ii.   17. 
Barrington,  Jane,  Viscountess,  i. 

•MS,  519,  520. 
Harrington,    Shute,     Bishop     of 

Durham,  i.  519. 
Harrington,  William   Keppel,  Gtli 

Viscount,  i.  519,  520. 
Barrington,  Mrs.  Russell,  i.  223. 
Barton,  Annie,  i.  55. 
Bassi,  Laura,  i.  6. 
Hay  ley.  Mrs.,  ii.  319,  320. 
Beaujour,    Chateau    de,   ii.    197- 

199. 
Beckett,  i.  519,  520,  589,  590. 
Beckwith,  Mrs.,  of  Silksworth,  ii. 

125. 
Belgium,  tour  in,  i.  298. 
Belhaven,    Hamilton,    Lady,    ii. 

62-64,  78,  79,  81,239,240. 
Belhaven,    Lord,    ii.  78,  81,  238, 

239. 
Bellagio,  ii.  298. 
Belsay,  ii.  73. 
Benalta,  family  story  of,  ii.  160- 

L64. 
Bengivenga,  Francesca,  ii.  374. 
Bonnet,  Hon.  Frederick,  ii.  8. 
Bennet,  Hon.  George,  ii.  8. 
Benningsen,    Countess   Marie,   i. 

234. 
Bentley,  Harriet,  ii.  542,  547. 
Benzoni,  the  sculptor,  ii.  279. 
Berchtesgaden,  ii.  400. 
Bergeret,    Madame,  story   of,   ii. 

356-360. 
Berkeley  Castle,  i.  227. 
Berri,    Caroline,   Duchesse   de,  i. 

155;  ii.  223,  246. 


INDEX 


559 


Berry,  the  Misses,  i.  237,  238. 

Betharram,  ii.  182. 

Biarritz,  ii.  188. 

Bidart,  ii.  189. 

Birtles,  ii.  307. 

Blackett,  Sir  Edward  and  Lady, 

i.  549;  ii.  7, 43,  67,  71,  350,173. 
Blackwood,  Sir  Arthur,  ii.  410. 
Blake,  Sir  Francis,  ii.  235. 
Blake,  William,  the  artist,  ii.  221. 
Blenkinsop  Castle,  ii.  78. 
Blessington,  Harriet  Power,  Coun- 
tess of,  i.  15,  29  ;  ii.  122. 
Blomfield,  Charles  James,  Bishop 

of  London,  i.  374. 
Blommart,    Miss    Elizabeth,     ii. 

189. 
Bodryddan,  ii.  311. 
Boggi,  Madame,  i.  478,  479. 
Bologna,  i.  5-7;  ii.  103,  520. 
Boivilliers,   Comtesse  de,  i.  272- 

277. 
Bonaparte,    Cardinal    Lucien,    ii. 

229. 
Bonis,  Madame  Maria  de,  ii.  514, 

519. 
Bonnyrigg,  ii.  67,  350. 
Borghese,  Adele,  Princess,  i.  455. 
Borghese,    Guendolina,   Princess, 

i.  455,  456. 
Borghese,  Marc-Antonio,  Prince, 

i.  455. 
Borghese,    Pauline,    Princess,    ii. 

63. 
Borghese,  Teresa,  Princess,  i.  456 ; 

ii.  280,  369. 
Bosanquet,  Charles,  of  Rock,  ii. 

15. 
Bosanquet,  Mrs.,  of  Rock,  ii.  16. 
Bothwell  Castle,  ii.  250. 
Bourbon,    Louis    Henri    Joseph, 

Due  de,  ii.  214. 


Bowes,  ii.  15. 

Bowes,  Lady  Anna,  i.  546. 

Bowes,  George,  i.  552. 

Bowes,   John,    of    Streatlam,    i. 

546,  550  ;  ii.  13, 14. 
Bowes,  Mrs.  John,  ii.  14. 
Bowles,  Miss,  ii.  450,  454. 
Boyle,  Carolina  Amelia   Poyntz, 

Lady,  i.  71,  231. 
Boyle,  Hon.  Carolina  Courtenay, 

i.    229-233,  347,  404,  405;  ii. 

100-102,  37S. 
Boyle,  Miss  Mary,  i.  232 ;  ii.  511, 

512. 
Bozledeane  Wood,  i.  285. 
Bracciano,  ii.  516. 
Bradley  Manor  in  Devon,  i.  227. 
Bradley  Manor   in  Northumber- 
land, ii.  51. 
Bradley,  Rev.  Charles,  i.  235,  236, 

239-250,  263-266,291,  292,  300, 

311,  313-315,  323. 
Bradley,  Mrs.  Charles,  i.  239,  243, 

263,  265,  308. 
Brainsclengh,  ii.  82. 
Brassey,    Henry    and   Albert,    ii. 

108.  112. 
Brassey,  Thomas,  i.  429. 
Brassey,  Mrs.  Thomas,  ii.  551. 
Brewster,  Sir  David,  ii.  243. 
Bridgeman,  Lady  Selina,  ii.  107. 
Brimham  Rocks,  ii.  66. 
Brinkburn  Abbey,  ii.  86. 
Bristol,  Lord,  i.  14,  24. 
Brixey,  Guillaume  de,  i.  22. 
Brodie,  Sir  Benjamin,  i.  196. 
Brougham  and  Vaux,  Henry,  1st 

Lord,  ii.  327. 
Brown,  Dr.,   Professor   at  Aber- 
deen, i.  9. 
Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett,   i. 

481  ;  ii.  123. 


500 


INDEX 


Browning,  Robert,  ii.  122. 

B    >u  alow,  John,  2d  Earl,  i.  518. 

Bruce,  Rei ,  •'•  Collingwood,  the 

antiquarian,  ii.  19,  251. 
Bruce,  Hon.  .Mrs.  Robert,  ii.  377. 
Brymer,  Archdeacon   (of  Wells), 

i.  266. 
Brymer,     .Marianne     Wilkinson, 

Mrs.,  i.  266,  268. 
Buchanan,  Alexander,  ii.  1 12. 
Buchanan,  Miss  Helen,  ii.  277. 
Bufalo,   the    Venerable    Gaspare 

del,  ii.  136,  L48. 
Bulkeley,  Anna  Maria  Hare,  Mrs. 

i.  2,  392. 
Bulman,  Mrs.,  ii.  71. 
Bulwer,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  i.  41. 
Bunsen.  Charles  de,  i.  195. 
Bunaen,     Chevalier,     afterwards 

Baron,  i.  128-130,  369,  400. 
Bunsen,  Emilia  de,  ii.  300. 
Bunsen,  Frances  <le.  ii.  28,  300. 
Bunsen,  I  teorge  de,  i.  382  ;  ii.  183. 
Bunsen,  Rev.  Henry  de,  ii.  56. 
Bunsen,      Madame,     afterwards 

Baroness,   i.   369;    ii.  28,   300, 

182. 
Bunsen,  Matilda  de,  ii.  28. 
Bunsen,  Theodore  de,  i.  369;  ii. 

28. 
Buntingsdale,  i.   Ill,  165;  ii.  55, 

56,  303. 
Burney,  Miss.  ii.  1 15. 
Burns,  Robert,  the  poet,  i.  539. 
Burr,  Mrs.  I  [igford,  i.  583. 
Butler,  Rev.  W.  J.,  Vicar  of  Wan- 
tage, i.  585,  586. 
Butler,  Mrs.,  i.  398. 


Caen,  i  254. 

Caerlaverock  Castle,  ii.  539. 


Caietani,  Don  Filippo,  ii.  456. 
Caie'tani,  Don  Onorato,  ii.  282. 
Calotkin,  Count,  i.  11. 
Cambo,  ii.  189. 
Cameron,  Mr.,  and  Lady  Vere,  i. 

1 1 5. 
Cameron,  Lady  Vere,  ii.  182,  183. 
Campbell,  Archibald,  i.  18. 
Campbell,     Charlotte     Malcolm, 

Lady,  i.  70. 
Campbell,  Colin,  i.  241,  244,  245. 
Canevari,     G.    B.,    the    portrait 

painter,  i.  469. 
Cannes,  ii.  322-332. 
Canning,  Charlotte,  Countess,  ii. 

83,  86,  174. 
Canterbury,  i.  284-290,  427,  428, 

532. 
Capel,  Monsignor,  ii.  186. 
Capheaton,  ii.  75. 
Capri,  i.  474. 

Carew,  Miss  Julia  Pole,  ii.  512. 
Carew,  Mrs.  Pole,  ii.  516.  ■ 
Carham,  ii.  475. 
Carlsruhe,  i.  5 ;  ii.  300. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  i.  131. 
Carmichael,  Sir  William,  ii.  249. 
Caroline,   Empress  of  Austria,  i. 

I  13. 
Caroline  of  Brunswick,  Queen  of 

lino-land,  ii.  222,  223. 
Carr  of  Hedgeley,  family  of,  ii. 

17. 
Castel  Fusano,  ii.  107. 
Castlecraig,  ii.  249. 
Castro,    Don    Alessandro   del,   ii. 

369. 
Cavendish,    Admiral,    and    Mrs. 

George,  i.  464,  483,  486. 
Cavendish,  Louisa,  Hon.  Mrs.,  i. 

168. 
Cavendish,  Lord  Richard,  i.  168. 


INDEX 


561 


Cecchi,  Cardinal,  i.  463;  ii.  267. 
Cecil,  Lord  Eustace,  i.  192. 
Cecinelli,  Lucia,  i.  42. 
Ceuci,  Count  Bolognetti,  ii.  251, 

280,  282. 
Challinor,  Mrs.  Hannah,  i.  119. 
Chambord,  Henri,  Comte  de,  ii, 

224. 
Charles  X.,  King  of  France,  ii. 

246. 
Charlotte,  Queen  of  England,  ii. 

145,  146. 
Charlotte,  Princess  of  Belgium,  i. 

438,  439. 
Charltons  of  Hesleyside,  the,  ii. 

69. 
Chartwell,  i.  403 ;  ii.  52. 
Chase  Dieu,  Le,  ii.  333. 
Chequers,  i.  415. 
Chesters,  ii.  68,  251. 
Chetwode,  Mrs.  George,  i.  125. 
Chevreuse,  i.  508. 
Chichester,  Miss  Catherine,  i.  484 ; 

ii.  23. 
Chillingham,  ii.  7-10,  87,  236. 
Chingford,  i.  247,  317. 
Chipchase,  ii.  69. 
Cholmondeley,  Mary  Heber,  Mrs., 

i.  113. 
Christina,  Queen,  of  Spain,  i.  455. 
Civita  Castellana,  i.  452. 
Clarendon,  Caroline,  wife  of  the 

5th  Earl  of,  i.  519. 
Clayton,  Mrs.  Anne,  ii.  48,  49. 
Clayton,  George  Nathaniel,  ii.  48, 

77. 
Clayton,    Isabel,    Mrs.     G.     Na- 
thaniel, ii.  49. 
Clayton,  John,  of  Chesters,  ii.  48, 

69. 
Clayton,  Miss,  ii.  15,  49,  68,  69. 
Clayton,  Matthew,  ii.  49,  50. 
vol.  ii.  —  36 


Cleveland,    William    Henry,    1st 

Duke  of,  ii.  248. 
Clifford,  Captain,  i.  474. 
Clinton,  Lady  Charles,  ii.  92, 179. 
Clinton,  Lady  Louisa,  i.  307. 
Clinton,  Miss  Louisa,  i.  47,  166, 

203,  207. 
Clive,    Mrs.    Archer,  i.   360;    ii. 

159,  160. 
Cluny,  ii.  523. 
Clutterbuck,      Marianne      Lyon, 

Mrs.,    of    Warkworth,   i.   422; 

ii.  16. 
Cobham,  Claude  Delaval,  ii.  334, 

335. 
Coigny,  Augustin,  Due  de,  ii.  225, 

226. 
Cole,  Miss  Florence,  i.  445. 
Cole,  Miss  Louisa,  i.  446. 
Colegrave,  Mrs.  Francis,  i.  484; 

ii.  23. 
Coleman,  Mrs.  Sarah,  i.  137. 
Collatia,  ii.  108. 
Collins,  Staunton,  i.  122,  151. 
Colonna,  Isabella  de  Toledo,  Prin- 
cess, ii.  367. 
Cokmhoun,    J.    E.    C,    i.    403; 

ii.  52. 
Compton,  Mrs.,  ii.  476. 
Conington,    John,    Professor    of 

Latin,  i.  412. 
Conwy,  Shipley,  ii.  316. 
Conwy,  Colonel  Shipley,  ii.  317. 
Copeland  Castle,  ii.  87. 
Corbet,  Lady,  of  Adderley,  ii.  538. 
Cork   and    Orrery,  Edmund,   8th 

Earl  of,  i.  231. 
Costa  le  Cerda,  Vicomte,  i.  500, 

505. 
Cottrell-Dormer,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  of 

Rousham,  i.  528. 
Coulson,  Colonel,  ii.  78. 


562 


INDEX 


Coulson,  Hon.  Mrs.,  ii.  7s. 

(  ,!>,.n.  Misses  Mary  and  Ara- 
bella, of  Blenkiusopp,  i.  548. 

Courmayeur,  Li.  96,  128. 

Courtenay,  Ladj  Agnes,  ii    171. 

I  trtenay,  "  Sir  William  "(Nich- 
ols Tom),  i.  285  288. 

Cousin,  M.  Victor,  ii.  329. 

Cowbourne,  Mrs.,  i-  101,  L65. 

i  ,.-.  i;.v.  Henry  Octavius,  Bod- 
leian Librarian,  i.  534. 

Cracroft,  Colonel  and  Mrs.,  ii. 
522. 

Cradock,  Hon.  Mrs.  (Harriel  Lis- 
ter),  i.  1"7.  518. 

I      ISter,  family  of,  ii.  17. 

Crawford,  Earl  of,  i.  18. 

Crecy,  ii.  '■'■I- 

Creslow  Pastures,  i.  583. 

CreswelL  Sir  Creswell,  ii.  78. 

Crichtou  Castle,  i.  545. 

Crowhurst,  Caroline,  i.  204,  205. 

Croyland,  ii-  343. 

Cuffe,  sir  Charles,  ii.  82. 

(    immings,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  ii.  520. 

Cushman.Miss  Charlotte, ii.  378- 

30,  526. 


Dm  i  \~.  Mrs.,  ii.  520. 

Dalton  Hall.  ii.  :il7. 

Dalzell,  ii.  83. 

I  lalzel,  Mrs.  Allen,  ii.  351. 

Dalzel,  Mrs.  Aventina,  i.  123,  124. 

1-7.  545;  ii.  80,  351,  353 
I  > . 1 1 1 •  •  \ .  i  .  i.  130. 

Darling,    Mi-.,    of    Bamborough, 

ii.  11. 
I »  -'Mt.  Sir  ( reorge,  i.  •":;,  356. 
Dasbw 1,    Anna    Maria   Shipley, 

Mrs.,  i.  13,  20,  24,  121:  ii.  313- 

315. 


Dashwood,  Bertha,  Lady,  ii.  170, 
179. 

Dashwood,  sir  Edwin,  ii.  170. 
D'Aubign^,  M.  Merle,  i.  360. 
Davenport,    Edward,     of    Capes- 

thorne,  i.  522. 
Davidoff,  Adele,   Madame,  i.  278, 

161-463,  470,  500;  ii.  128. 
Davidson,  Susan  Jessop,  Mrs.,  of 

Ridley  Hall,  i.  54.1-.J5U;  ii.  6, 

12.  13,  07,  173,  474. 
Hawkins,    Mrs.     Francis,    ii.    31, 

269,  270.  466. 
Deimling,  Hot  Otto,  i.  129. 
Dent'enella,  i.  512. 
Denison,  Lady  Charlotte,  ii.  245. 
Denison,  Mr.  Stephen,  ii.  11. 
Derby    Edward    Smith,    Stanley, 

13th  Earl  of,  ii.  318. 
Derwent  water,  James    Radcliffe, 

Earl  of,  ii.  0,  76. 
Desart,  Lord,  i.  14. 
1><-  Selby,  Mrs.,  ii.  260. 
He  Selby,  Mrs.  Robert,  ii.  367. 
Des    Voeux,   Miss  Georgiana,  ii. 

93,  94,  324. 
Devonshire,   Georgiana,    wife    of 

William.  5th  Duke  of,  i.  4,  5. 
Dickens,  Charles,  ii.  14. 

Dilston,  ii.  50. 

Dixon,  Louisa  Simpkinson,  Mrs., 

ii.  534. 
Dixon-Browne,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  of 

Unthank,  ii.  :'>I9. 
Dolceacqua,  i.  610. 
1  Jolgorouki,  Prince  Nicole,  ii.  266, 

280. 
Don  caster,  ii.  2. 
Doria,  Donna  Guendolina,  i.  466; 

ii.  380. 
Doria,  Prince,  ii.  136. 
Doria.  Donna  Olimpia,  i.  466. 


INDEX 


563 


Doria,  Donna  Teresa,  i.  465. 
D'Orsay,  Count,  i.  14,  15,  16,  23, 

29  ;  ii.  122. 
Dowdeswell,  Miss,  ii.  273,  277. 
Dresden,  i.  341. 
Duckworth,  Robinson,  afterwards 

tutor   to    Prince    Leopold   and 

Canon  of  Westminster,  i.  355, 

375,  412,  436,  437. 
Dudley,  John,  Earl,  i.  15. 
Dumbleton,  Miss  Harriet,  i.  213. 
Dumfries,  i.  539. 
Dunlop,    Harriet,    Mrs.,    ii.    422, 

424,    440,   441,   446,   447,    448, 

454,  459,  460,  468. 
Dunottar,  i.  541. 
Dunstanborough  Castle,  ii.  9,  239, 

240. 
Duntrune,  i.  540. 
Dupanloup,  Monsignor,  Bishop  of 

Orleans,  ii.  504. 
Durham,  ii.  4,  51. 
Durham,  Beatrix,  Countess  of,  ii. 

85-87,  239-243. 
Durham,   George-Frederick,  Earl 

of,  ii.  87,  88,  239,  240. 
Dp-ham  Park,  i.  249. 


Eardley,  Sir  Culling,  ii  25. 
Eastbourne,  i.  50,  167,  203,  298, 

401. 
East  Hendred,  i.  591. 
Eastlake,  Elizabeth  Rigby,  Lady, 

ii.  336,  337. 
Eccles  Greig,  i.  542. 
Egerton,  Lady  Blanche,   ii.  237, 

238. 
Egerton,  Rev.  Charles,  i.  108. 
Elcho,  Anne,  Lady,  ii.  80,  245. 
Ellisland,  i.  543.  " 
Ellison,  Mr.  Cuthbert,  i.  40. 


Ellison,  Mrs.,  of   Sugbrooke,   ii. 

348. 
Ely,  ii.  217. 
Erskine,    Rev.    J.,   and  Mrs.,    ii. 

369,  375. 
Erskine,  Thomas,  of  Linlathen,  i. 

540  ;  ii.  16. 
Escrick,  ii.  142. 
Este,  ii.  397. 
Eugene   Beauharnais,    Prince,    i. 

15. 
Eugenie,  the  Empress,  i.  391 ;  ii. 

531. 
Evans,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii.  213. 
Eversley,  Viscount,  i.  581. 
Evreux,  i.  258. 
Exeter,  Henry  Philpotts,  Bishop 

of,  ii.  5. 


Facchini,  Giacinta,  the  "  Saint 
of  St.  Peter's,"  ii.  139, 140,  419, 
445. 

Falconnet,  Mademoiselle  Judith, 
i.  456. 

Falkirk  Tryste,  ii.  250. 

Farley  Hungerford,  i.  215,  216. 

Fazakerley,  John  Nicholas,  i.  14. 

Fielden.  Rev.  H.  Arbuthnot,  and 
Mrs.,  ii.  275,  276,  289. 

Fielding,  Lord  and  Lady,  i.  269, 
270. 

Fellowes,  Susan  Lyon,  Mrs.,  ii. 
48. 

Ferney,  Voltaire,  i.  360. 

Ferrara,  i.  450  ;  ii.  492. 

Ferronays,  M.  de  la,  i.  463. 

Feucheres,  Sophia  Dawes,  Ma- 
dame de,  ii.  227. 

Fiano,  Duke  of,  ii.  131. 

Fiano,  Giulia,  Duchess  of,  i.  456. 

Fielding,  Copley,  i.  130,  402. 


:,.;i 


INDKX 


Filiol,  Svl.il,  i.  124. 

Fina,  S.,  ii.  I 

Finucane,    Miss,    ii.     882,    385, 

519. 
Fisher,  Frederick,  ii.  266,  549. 
-Clarence,  Ladj  Frederick,  ii. 

234. 
Fitz-Gerald,   Edward  Fox,  i.  22, 

23,  30. 
Fitz-Gerald,    Jane      Paul,     .Mrs. 

Edward,  i.  22,  30;  ii.  430,  431, 

134,  135,  136,  159. 
Fitz-Gerald,  Pamela,  wife  of  Lord 

Edward,  i.  22. 
Fitzherbert,  Mrs.,  ii.  47  1. 
Fitzmaurice,  Mrs.,  ii.  :J!)6. 
Fletcher,  Miss,  of  Saltoun,  ii.  80, 

243,  245,  246. 
Fletcher,   Lady  Charlotte,  ii.  80, 

246,  247. 
Flodden  Field,  ii.  18. 
Florence,  i.  176;  ii.  1<>3,  167. 
Florence,  Henry,  ii.  506. 
Fontainebleau,  i.  358. 

taines,  ii.  361. 
Fontarabia,  ii.  1 1 » 1 . 
Fontenay,  ii.  524. 
Ford    Castle,    ii.   17-19,    83-85, 

174-476. 
Forth,  Parker,  i.  22. 
Foster,   Dr.,   Bishop  of  Kilmore, 

and  Mrs.,  i.  594,  595. 
Foster.  Miss,  i    59 1-599. 
Fotheringham,   Mrs.,  of  Fother- 

ingham,  i.  539. 
Franceses    Romana,   S.,   ii.   395, 

Frai  II..  King  of  Naples,  ii. 

290,  291. 
Franklin.  Lady,  ii.  21  _. 
.  i.  212. 
derick,  frown  Prince  of  Prus- 


sia, afterwards  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many, ii.  9  1. 

Frederick  the  Great,  i.  526. 

Frewen,  Mrs.,  i.  504. 

Fribourg,  in  Switzerland,  i.    198. 

Frit  well  Manor,  i.  529. 

Fry,  Elizabeth,  Mrs.,  i.  182;  ii. 
146. 

Fullerton.  Lady  (ieorgiana,  ii. 
115,  117,118,  151,396,432,443, 
446. 


Gabet,  M.,  ii.  132. 
Gabriac,  Marquis  de,  i.  500. 
Gabriac,  Marquise  de,  i.  463. 
Gaebler,  M.  Bernard,  i.  127. 
Galicano,   the    Hermitage   of,   i. 

486. 
Galway,  Rev.  Father,  ii.  114-11!), 

138,426,445. 
Garden,  Miss  Henrietta,  i.  86;  ii. 

369.  385,  391. 
GaskelL   Mrs.,   the   authoress,  i. 

586-588. 
Gasperoni,  the  robber   chieftain, 

i.  452. 
Gaussen,  M.,  i.  360. 
Gayford,  Mrs.,  i.  42,  292. 
Gemmi,  adventure  on  the,  i.  367. 
Geneva,  i.  360. 
Genlis,  Madame  de,  i.  22. 
George  III.,  King  of  England,  ii. 

143-145. 
George  IV.,  King  of  England,  ii. 

222,  223,  354,  471. 
Ghizza,  Ancilla,  ii.  4<>2. 
Giacinta,    the     -Saint     of      St. 

Peter's,"  ii.  139,  140,  419,  445. 
Gibside,  i.  552. 
Gibson,   John,   the    Sculptor,    ii. 

273-275. 


INDEX 


565 


Gidman,  John,  i.  46,  104,  354, 
388,  435,  475 ;  ii.  104,  108,  194, 
401,  547. 

Gidman,  Mary  Lea,  i.  162-164, 
166,  382,  387,  427,  435,  495, 
538,  602,  604 ;  ii.  166,  193,  253, 
280,  295,  325,  367,  369,  371,  374, 
382,  494,  519,  531,  536,  539,  540, 
542,  547,  549,  551. 

Gioberti,  Signor,  ii.  347. 

Girardot,  Madame,  i.  24. 

Gladstone,  Mrs.,  ii.  100. 

Glamis  Castle,  i.  17,  18. 

Glamis,  John  Lyon,  6th  Lord, 
i.  18. 

Glamis,  John  Lyon,  7th  Lord, 
i.  18. 

Glamis,  John,  8th  Lord,  i.  18. 

Glastonbury,  i.  77. 

Goethe,  i.  9. 

Goldschmidt,  Madame  (Jenny 
Lind),  i.  183 ;  ii.  330-332. 

Goldsmid,  Nathaniel,  i.  463;  ii. 
348. 

Goldsmid,  Mrs.  Nathaniel,  ii.  268, 
269-273,  286. 

Goldstone  Farm,  i.  119,  165. 

Gondi,  Count,  ii.  418. 

Gordon,  Hon.  John,  ii.  246. 

Gore,  Lady,  i.  220. 

Gosan,  Lakes  of,  i.  443. 

Gosford,  ii.  80. 

Graham,  Elizabeth,  i.  17. 

Graham,  Miss  Clementina  Ster- 
ling, i.  510. 

Grande  Chartreuse,  La.,  i.  613. 

Grant,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  Soutlrwark, 
ii.  150. 

Grant,  Frederick  Forsyth,  i.  350, 
429,  529,  542. 

Granville,  Mr.  Court,  and  Lady 
Charlotte,  ii.  77. 


Grave,  Chevalier  de,  i.  22. 
Gregory,  Mrs.,  ii.  183-186. 
Gregory  XVI.,  Pope,  i.  467,  598; 

ii.  272. 
Gresford,  i.  76  ;  ii.  154. 
Greville,  Mrs.,  nee  Locke,  i.  483. 
Grey,  Anna  Sophia  Ryder,  Lady, 

of  Falloden,  ii.  17,  86. 
Grey,  Charles,  2d  Earl,  ii.  239. 
Grey,  Lady  Charlotte,  widow  of 

the  Hon.  Gen.  Sir  Henry  Grey 

of  Falloden,  i.  607 ;  ii.  93,  95, 

97,  324,  336. 
Grey,  Lady  Elizabeth,  ii.  15,  86. 
Grey,  Hon.  and  Rev.  Francis,  ii. 

15,  17,  86. 
Grey,  Sir  George,  of  Falloden,  ii. 

17,  86,  239. 
Grey,  Sir  George,  of  New  Zealand, 

i.  578-580  ;  ii.  479. 
Grey,  Lady  Georgiana,  ii.  60,  62- 

64. 
Grey,  Henry  George,  3d  Earl,  ii. 

239,  240. 
Grey,  Rev.  Harry,  i.  201. 
Grey,  John,  of  Dilston,  ii.  6. 
Grey,    Maria,    Countess,   ii.   239, 

240. 
Grigor,  Dr.,  ii.  515. 
Grimaldi,  i.  607. 
Grimaldi,  the  Marchesa,  ii.  50. 
Grote,  George,  i.  431. 
Grote,  Harriet  Lewin,  Mrs.,  i.  284. 

429-431,  581. 
Grove,  Mrs.,  ii.  532.  533. 
Guildford,  the  trial  at,  ii.  452. 
Guizot,  M.  Francois  Pierre  Guil- 

laume,  i.  254. 
Gunnora,  Duchess  of  Normandy, 

i.  253. 
Gurney,  Miss  Anna,  i.  182. 
Gurney,  Mrs.  Catherine,  i.  182. 


INDEX 


Haig,  the  Misses,  ii.  519. 
Hale,  Dr.  Douglas,  ii.  91,  L93. 
Hale,  Mrs.,  ii.  198,  549. 
Halifax.  Miss  <  aroline,  i.  225. 
II  ill,  Mrs.  Richard,  ii.  340,  371, 

llallain.  Arthur,  i.  104. 
Hallam,  Henry,  i   426. 
I lallein,  mines  of,  i.  111. 
Hallingbury,  ii.  216. 
Hallstadt,  i.  140 

I  [amiltoii  Palace,  ii.  82. 
Hamilton,  Alexander,  10th  Duke 

of,  ii.  ''>•">,  83. 
Hamilton,       Mrs.        Cospatrick 

Baillie,  ii.  533. 
Hamilton,  Lady  Emily,  ii.  250. 
Hamilton,  Jinn.  Margaret  Dillon, 

Mrs.,  i.  303. 
Hamilton,   .Man,    Duchess  of,  ii. 

82. 
Hampden,  Great,  i.  -11"'. 
Hanover,  King  George  of,  i.  530, 

531. 
Harcourt,  Archbishop,  ii.  338. 
Hardwicke,  Susan,  Countess  of, 

ii.  118. 
Hardwicke,    Elizabeth,   Countess 

of,  ii.  230,  232,  171. 

II  ;!<•.  Anna-Maria  Clementina,  i. 
8,  10. 

Hare,  Anne  Frances  Maria 
Louisa,  i.  30,  126,269-281,  293, 
153-455,  165,  173,  199,  500, 
553  577;  ii.  21,  90,  111,  121- 
142,  1  16,  165,  167,  196-210,266, 
283,  101,  102-433,  134-439. 

Hare,  Augustus  John  Cuthbert: 
birth  of,  i.  :'.:!:  baptism,  4<>; 
adoption,  10;  is  sen!  to  Eng- 
land, 15;  childhood  of,  16-134; 
eenl  to  scl 1  at  Harnish,  135; 


private  school  life  of,  137;  at 
Harrow,  169-195;  at  Lyn- 
combe,  196-234 ;  at  Southgate, 
235-318;  tour  in  Normandy, 
-•"'1  2'i";  tour  in  Belgium, 
Germany  and  France,  298-307; 
goes  to  University  College, 
Oxford,  319;  second  tour  in 
Germany  and  France,  336-347; 
in  France  and  Switzerland, 
358-369;   in   Wales,  397-400; 

in  Scotland,  422-428;  leaves 
Oxford,  134;  in  Switzerland 
and  Austria,  435-144;  first 
journey  to  Koine  and  Naples, 
145-480;  summer  at  Florence 
and  Lucca,  480-493;  autumn 
in  Northern  Italy  and  Paris, 
193-511;  writes  Murray's 
Handbook  for  Berks,  Bucks, 
and  Oxfordshire,  514-613*, 
second  summer  in  Scotland, 
538-545;  has  to  leave  Hurst- 
monceaux,  589;  leaves  Lima, 
602;  settles  at  Holmhurst,  604; 
spends  the  winter  at  Mentone, 
608-610;  writes  Murray's 
Handbook  for  Durham  and 
Northumberland,  ii.  1-88 ; 
spends  the  spring  at  Nice  and 
early  summer  in  Switzerland, 
92-99  :  second  winter  at  Rome, 
105-122  ;  visit  to  Escrick,  142  ; 
spring  at  Pau  and  Biarritz, 
166-196;  summer  in  North- 
umberland, 216-251;  third 
winter  at  Rome,  252-300 ;  win- 
ter at  Cannes,  :;20-332;  fourth 
winter  at  Koine,  401  ;  death  of 
his  sister,  101;  is  attacked  by 
a  Roman  Catholic  Conspiracy, 
434^465;  tilth  winter  at  Rome 


INDEX. 


567 


and  dangerous  illness,  467-471 ; 
sixth  winter  at  Rome,  481-52(3 ; 
death  of  his  adopted  mother, 
541. 

Hare,  Augustus  William,  Rector 
of  Alton-Barnes,  i.  5,  10,  11, 
15,  24,  25,  34,  36,  39. 

Hare,  Mrs.  Augustus  (Maria 
Leycester),  i.  34,  35,  39,  48- 
61,  78-134,  149-159,  162,  163, 
167-181,  188,  203,  210,  213, 
263,  289-292,  299-301, 306,  308, 
315,  317,  324, 333,  336,  349,  352, 
353,  357-359,  361,  370,  373- 
391,  403,  408,  417-425,  445- 
449,  468,  470,  476,  495,  506, 
512,  529,  532,  533,  536,  538, 
541,  544,  574,  578,  582,  590, 
601-607;  ii.  2,  23,  57-60,  89, 
110,  164-182,  184-196,213,  216, 
251-254,  280,  295,  300,  303, 
305,  340,  349,  360-366,  371-401, 
466,  471-478,  480,  485-553. 

Hare,  Miss  Caroline,  i.  3,  70,  74, 
75,  230. 

Hare,  Caroline,  daughter  of 
Francis  and  Anne,  i.  26,  27. 

Hare,  Francis,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's 
and  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph 
and  Chichester,  i.  1,  2,  533. 

Hare,  Francis  George  (the  elder), 
i.  5-16,  20,  23-33,  39-42,  66-68, 
75,  125-127,  533. 

Hare,  Francis  George  (the 
younger),  i.  27.  30,  73,  74,  127, 
295,  296,  308;  ii.  115-117,  154, 
407,  423,  424,  434-465. 

Hare,  Mrs.  (Anne  Frances  Paul), 
i.  23-33,  40,  42,  75,  126,  221, 
268-281,  293-298,453-455,  458, 
459,  465,  467,  4S0, 497, 499,  500, 
551-577;  ii.  113-121,  254-263. 


Hare,  George,  i.  73,  74. 

Hare,  Georgiana,  afterwards  Mrs. 

Frederick    Maurice,  i.   10,    13, 

65,  66,  221. 
Hare,  Gustavus  Cockburn,  i.  10, 

97,  227,  383. 
Hare,      Mrs.     Gustavus    (Annie 

Wright),  i.  98. 
Hare,  Mrs.  Henckel,  i.  3,  4,  71, 

72. 
Hare,  Henry,  i.  72. 
Hare,  Julius   Charles,   i.  5,  7,  8, 

10,  30,  38,  46,  53-64,  71,  75, 
78-80,  82-89,  98,  121,  122,  142, 
143,  151-155,  199,  200,  201, 
207,  283,  338,  370,  372,  378, 
380-385. 

Hare,  Mrs.  Julius  (Esther  Mau- 
rice), i.  143-151,  160-162,  166, 
189,  199,  203,  226,  283,  354, 
371,  372,  388,  510,  511,  569;  ii. 
110,  111. 

Hare,  Marcus  Augustus  Stanley, 
i.  58,  68,  591 ;  ii.  509. 

Hare,  Marcus  Theodore,  i.  5,  7, 

11,  71-75,  139,  151,  153,  155, 
156. 

Hare,  Mrs.  Marcus   (Hon.    Lucy 

Anne    Stanley),   i.    39,  58,  74, 

139,    142,   153,    155,    160-162; 

ii.  469,  470. 
Hare,  Miss  Marianne,  i.  3,  8,  70, 

72,  75,  230. 
Hare,    Mary     Margaret    Alston, 

Mrs  ,  i.  392,  533. 
Hare,  Reginald  John,  i.  10. 
Hare,    Rev.     Robert,    Rector    of 

Hurstmonceaux,  i.  3,  4,  36. 
Hare,  Rev.  Canon  Robert,  i.  2,  5, 

393. 
Hare,    Theodore    Julius,    i.    126, 

162. 


3 


INDEX 


Hare,  William  Robert,  i.  29,  127. 
17;  ii.  116,  117.  111*.  124, 
168,  L69,  208,  L09-416. 
1 1  mdiain,  ii.  76. 

Haniish,  i.  185. 

II     ris,  1  [on.  Reginald  Temple,  i. 
208,  209,  216,  220,  228. 

Harrison,  Archdeacon  Benjamin, 
and  Mrs.,  ii.  480,  481. 

Harrow,  i.  169. 

Hastings,  L.  98. 

Hatfield,  L  248. 

Hawker.  Misses  Jane  and  Ade- 
laide, ii.  298,  299,  329. 

Hawkestone,  i.  110,  1G5;  ii.  50. 

Hawtrey,  Dr.  Edward  Craven. 
Provosi  of  Eton,  i.  591,  593. 

Haw  trey,  Miss,  i.  •">!••_'. 

Hay,  Adam,  of  Kind's  Meadows, 
i.  518;  ii.  249,  329. 

Hay,  Miss  [da,  ii.  93. 

Hay.  Sir  Adam,  ii.  81,  91,  329. 

Heber,  Rev.  Reginald,  Rector  of 
Hodnet,  and  Bishop  of  Cal- 
cutta, i.  35,  7!),  113. 

Heber,  Mrs.  Reginald  (Emilia 
Shipley),  i.  3"> ;  ii.  313. 

Hedley,  Rev.  W.,  Dean  of  Uni- 
versity College,  afterwards  Bee- 
tor  of  Becklev.  i.  :J21,  322,  327, 
328. 

Heidelberg,  i.  301. 

Heiligenkreutz,  i.  I  In. 

HenckeL  Mrs.,  i.  70. 

Herries,  Marcia,  Lady,  ii.  405. 

Helseyside,  ii.  69. 

Heygarth,  Miss,  i.  127. 

Hibbert,  Caroline  Cholmondeley, 
Mrs.,  ii.  306. 

Hickeldon  Hall,  ii.  20. 

Higginson,  Misa  Adelaide,  i. 
381. 


Higginson,  Lady  Frances,  i.  381 ; 

ii.  107. 
High  Force,  the,  ii.  07. 
Hill,  Ann,  Viscountess,  i.   110. 

Hill,  Sir  Row  land,  i.  114. 

Hill,  Viscount,  i.  114. 

Hobart,  Vere  Henry,  Lord,  and 
Mary  Catherine,  Lady,  ii.  107, 
112. 

Hodnet,  i.  35,  113;  ii.  56. 

Hogg,  James,  the  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd, ii.  45,  40. 

Holmhurst,  i.  447,  600-602;  ii. 
21,  54,  90,  300,471. 

Holy  Island,  ii.  10,  11. 

Hood,  Henry,  ii.  334. 

Hope,  Ladj   Mildred,  i.  420. 

Hornby,  Mrs.,  of  Dalton,  ii.  276, 
318,479. 

Horsley,  Bishop,  ii.  480. 

Ilosmer,  Miss  Harriet,  the  sculp- 
tress, ii.  273,  512. 

Hos  Tendis,  i.  4. 

llonblon,  Mr.,  and  Mrs.  Archer, 
ii.  107,  216. 

Houghton,  Robert  Monckton,  1st 
Lord,  ii.  398,  50 1 . 

Hour,  the  Holy,  ii.  196. 

Housesteads,  ii.  09. 

Howard.  Edward  Henry,  Monsig- 
nor,  afterwards  Cardinal,  i.  463. 

Howard,  Lady  Victoria,  ii.  328. 

Howick,  ii.  239. 

Hughan,  Miss  Janetta,  ii  21. 

Hughes,  Miss,  "Sister  Marion," 
i.  375,  376. 

Hull,  Henry  Winstanley,  i.  130, 
156,  398. 

Hulne  Abbey,  ii.  237. 

Hunisett,  Philip,  i.  62. 

Hunt,  Sir  J.,  ii.  236. 

Hurstmonceaux,  i.  1-4,  8,  9,  43- 


INDEX 


569 


48,  70,  126-128,  130-137,  149- 
151,  204-206,  308,  354,  370,  372, 
378,  384,  488,  511,  589,  590 ;  ii. 
546,  547. 

Hutt,  William,  M.  P.  for  Gates- 
head, i.  551. 

Hyeres,  ii.  91. 


Ignatius,  Brother,  ii.  377,  378. 
Ingilby,     Elizabeth     Macdowell, 

Lady,  of  Ripley,  ii.  20,  64. 
Ingilby,  Miss,  ii.  60. 
Irongray  Church,  the,  i.  539. 


Jackson,  Dean  of  Christ  Church, 

i.  12. 
Janin,  Jules,  ii.  215. 
Jelf,  Dr.,  Canon  of  Christ  Church, 

i.  529,  530. 
Jersey,    Sarah,    Countess    of,    ii. 

217. 
Jerusalem,  Bishopric  of,  i.  129. 
Jeune,    Dr.    Francis,    Master    of 

Pembroke    College,    afterwards 

Bishop  of  Peterborough,  i.  413  ; 

ii.  311-348. 
Jocelyn,    Lady   Frances    Cowper, 

Viscountess,  ii.  325. 
Johnson,  Mr.,  of  Akeley  Heads, 

ii.  5,  6. 
Jolliffe,  Colonel  Hylton,  i.  20. 
Jones.  Anna  Maria  Shipley,  Lady, 

i.  5,  10,  11,  13,   16,  27,  510;  ii. 

315. 
Jones,  Mr.,  of  Branxton.  ii.  18. 
Jones,  Sir  AYilliam,  i.  5,  13. 
Jowett,  Rev.  Benjamin,  tutor  and 

Master  of   Balliol,  i.  319,  321, 

328,  333,  334,  349,  375,  581. 
Joyce,  Miss,  ii.  289. 


Keith,  Lady,  ii.  231. 

Kershaw,  Rev.  £.,  and  Mrs.,  ii. 

106,  112. 
Kielder,  ii.  68. 
Kilvert,  Rev.  Robert,  i.  132,  133, 

135-137,  169. 
Kilvert,     Thermuthis     Coleman, 

Mrs.  Robert,  i.  132,  137. 
King's  Meadows,  ii.  81. 
Kirk-Newton,  ii.  85. 
Knaresborough,  ii.  60. 
Knebel,  Mademoiselle,  ii.  105. 
Knox,  Mrs.  John,  ii.  13. 
Konigsfelden,  ii.  299. 
Kuper.    Mrs.    and   Miss,  ii.   485, 

486. 


Labre,  the  Venerable,  ii.  151. 
Laire,  M.,  the  antiquary,  i.  257. 
Lamarre,  M.,  ii.  119,  417. 
Lamartine,  Alphonse  de,  ii.  523. 
Landor,  Julia  Thuillier,  Mrs.,  i. 

482;  ii.  121. 
Landor,  Walter  Savage,  i.  14,  16, 

20,  29,  41,  210-212,  219,  229, 

232,  405,  416,  482.  497  ;  ii.  121- 

123. 
Langford,  Elizabeth,  Viscountess, 

ii.  316. 
Lardoria,  Prince,  i.  21. 
Large,  Mrs.,  ii.  462,  463. 
Larmignac,    Mademoiselle    Mar- 
tine  de,  i.  562  :  ii.  200. 
Lawley,  Hon.  and  Rev.  Stephen, 

ii.  142. 
Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  i.  16. 
Lea,  Mary.  i.  40,  43,  47,  55,  60,  83, 

88,  93,  98,  119,  121,   145,  153, 

162,  166.  167,  291. 
Lefevre,  Sir  John  Shaw,  i.  578, 

581 ;  ii.  159. 


570 


INDEX 


Legh    of    Lyme,    Emily    Wode- 
bouse,  Mr-.,  ii.  803,  305. 

Lehmann,  Dr.,  i.  7.  9,  11. 

I.  igh,  Miss  Theodosia,  i.  111. 

Leigh toD,  Sir  Frederick,  i.  232. 

Lennox,  Lady  Arthur,  ii.  79. 

Lennox,  Mi  is  Ethel,  ii.  7!). 

Le  Puy,  ii.  ■'>■'•■'>. 

Leslie,  Lady,  ii.  52-54. 

L'Eetelle,  ii.  L81,  L87. 

Le  Strange,  Elamon  Styleman,  of 
Hunstanton,  i.  518. 

Leuk,  Baths  of,  i.  366. 

Leycester,  Miss  Emma  Theodosia, 
i.  90,  398;  ii.  179-181. 

Leycester,  Mr.,  and  Mrs.  Henry. 
of  White  Place,  i.  533. 

Leycester,  Judge  Hugh,  i.  Ill, 
216. 

Leycester,  Maria,  youngesl  daugh- 
ter of  K<\ .  ( tewald,  i.  25. 

I..- — ter,  Miss  Charlotte,  i.  90, 
251,  253,298,  358,  361-364,381, 
387,  122,  126,  135,  136;  ii.  25, 
171,  179,375,381-391,  172,  193, 
504,  507,  -"'17,  521,  531,  535. 

Leycester,  Miss  Georgiana,  ii. 
r.7:.. 

Leycester,  Mrs.  Oswald  (Eliza- 
beth White),  i.  81,  109,  110, 
1  65,  181,  182,  216,  217. 

Leycester,  Rev.  Oswald,  Lector 
of  Stoke-upon-Terne,  i.  35,  47, 
109,  164,  Hi."). 

Le]  Ralph,  <>t'  '['..ft.  i.  257. 

!-      •■•-ter.    Mr-.     Susannah,    wife 

"f  Ralph  Leycester  of  Toft,  i. 

Lichfield,  ii.  59. 

Liddell,  Mi-  Amelia,  ii.  :;.  10. 
Liddell,  lion.  Colonel   Augustus, 
ii.  lis,  5io. 


Liddell,  Hon.  Mrs.   Augustus,  ii. 

.Ml). 

Liddell,  Miss  Charlotte,  ii.  3,  10. 

Liddell,  Charlotte  Lyon,  Mrs.,  i. 
•-'•-'1;  ii.  1.  Hi,  217,350. 

Liddell.  Edward,  ii.  508-510. 

Liddell,  Hon.  George,  ii.  3,  4,  48, 
51. 

Liddell,  Hon.  Mrs.  George,  ii.  4, 
18. 

Liddell,  Hon.  Hedworth,  ii.  86. 

Liddell,  Henry,  Head-master  of 
Westminster  and  Dean  of 
Christ  Church,  i.  224,  410,  417, 
122. 

Liddell,  Rev.  Henry,  Rector  of 
Easington,  and  trustee  of  Dam- 
borough  Castle,  i.  221;  ii.  4, 
217,  350. 

Liddell,  Maria  Susannah  Simp- 
son, Lady,  i.  19,  21,  32. 

Liddell,  Hon.  Thomas,  i.  519. 

Liddell,  Rev.  William,  ii.  1. 

Lime,  at  Hurstmonceaux  in  Sus- 
sex, i.  45-48.  54-61,  325,  390, 
407,  421. 

Limosin,  Madame  Flora,  ii.  254, 
1 15,  464,  494. 

Lincluden  Abbey,  i.  539. 

Lind,  Madame  Jenny,  i.  187. 

Lindsay,  Lady  Margaret,  ii.  231. 

Liszt,  Franz,  ii.  107. 

Londonderry,       Frances       Anne, 

Marchioness   of.    ii.   217. 
Londonderry,  Mary.  Marchioness 
of,  ii.  132. 

Li  it  Ida n.  Lady  Cecil  Talbot,  widow 
of  the  7th  Marquis  of,  i.  2(39, 
288;  ii.  111.  119,  123,  151,  336, 
120,  432,  145,  146,  t54,  458. 
Lothian.  "William.  Sehomberg,  8th 
Marquis  of,  ii.  219. 


INDEX 


571 


Lothian,  Constance,  Marchioness 
of,  ii.  249. 

Louis,  King  of  Bavaria,  ii.  94. 

Lovat,  Simon,  Lord,  ii.  76. 

Lucca,  Bagni  di,  i.  485. 

Lucchesi,  Marchese,  ii.  224. 

Lucerne,  i.  435. 

Lucy,  Mrs.,  of  Charlecote,  i. 
420. 

Lushington,  Dr.,  ii.  32-41. 

Lyell,  William  Rowe,  Dean  of 
Canterbury,  i.  284. 

Lyme  Hall,  ii.  305. 

Lyncombe,  i.  213. 

Lyne,  Rev.  Leycester,  ii.  277. 

Lynn-Linton,  Mrs.,  i.  216. 

Lyon,  Sir  John,  of  Glamis,  i.  17. 

Lyon,  Sir  John,  1st  Baron  King- 
horn,  i.  17. 

Lyon,  Thomas,  of  Hetton,  ii.  4, 
16,  48. 

Lyon,  Mrs.  Thomas,  of  Hetton, 
ii.  48. 

Lyons,  i.  359. 


Macaulay,  Lord,  i.  409,  581. 
Macmurdo,  General,  ii.  355. 
Macon,  ii.  523. 

Macsween,  Alexander,  i.  136,  137. 
Mainsforth,  ii.  41,  216. 
Makrina,  La  Madre,  of  Minsk,  i. 

467,  4G8. 
Malcolm,  Miss  Ann  Emilia,  i.  346. 
Malcolm,  Lady,  i.  346. 
Malcolm,  Sir  John,  i.  70.  197. 
Malcolm,  Miss  Kate,  i.  346. 
Manners,  Lady  John,  ii.  21. 
Manners-Sutton,   Archbishop,   ii. 

339. 
Mannheim,  i.  42,  303. 
Manning,     Archdeacon     Henry, 


afterwards  Cardinal,  i.  78,  269  ; 

ii.  Ill,  211,  461,  504. 
Mantua,  ii.  485. 
Marbourg,  i.  338. 
Marie     Amelie,     Queen    of    the 

French,  i.  217. 
Marie-Anne,  Sceur,  ii.  150. 
Marie     Antoinette,      Queen     of 

France,  prison  of,  i.  507 ;  ii.  32. 
Marlborough,  John,  1st  Duke  of, 

i.  1. 
Marmora,  Comtessa  la,  i.  493. 
Marsh,  Miss  Catherine,  i.  323 ;  ii. 

25,  412,  413,  416. 
Martin,  Baron,  ii.  464. 
Masham,  Mrs.,  ii.  41. 
Massie,  Mrs.,  ii.  303. 
Mastai-Ferretti,  Conte,  i.  596-598. 
Matfen,  ii.  7,  71. 
Matthias,  Maria  de,  foundress  of 

the    "  Order    of    the    Precious 

Blood,"  ii.   127,  147-150,  281, 

406,  407. 
Maurice    (Annie    Barton),    Mrs. 

Frederick,  i.  13,  55. 
Maurice,  Esther  Jane,  i.  58,  89, 

129,  140. 
Maurice,  Rev.  Frederick  Denison, 

i.  55,  56,  57,  66,  88,  222. 
Maurice,    Georgiana   Hare,   Mrs. 

Frederick,  ii.  547. 
Maurice,  Harriet,  i.  142. 
Maurice,  Mary,  i.  142,  144. 
Maurice,  Priscilla,  i.  56,  58,  89, 

142,  144,  326. 
Maximilian,  Archduke  and  Em- 
peror, i.  438. 
Medine,    Count     Battistino,      ii. 

487. 
Melun,  M.,  Protestant  pasteur  at 

Caen,  i.  254. 
Mentone,  ii.  97,  98,  361. 


572 


INDEX 


Merlini,   Don   Giovanni,    Father- 
General  of  the  Precious  Blood. 

ii.  136,  138,  150. 
Merode,  Monsignor  de,  ii.  268. 
M   ,,  ,.  M.  Carl  Friedrich,  i.  302. 
Mezzofanti,  Cardinal,  i.  7. 
Milligan,  William  Heury,  i.  330, 

334,  335,  392,397,  110,411,428, 

513. 
Milman,    Henry    Hart,    Dean    of 

St  Paul's,  i.  312,  592. 
Milner,      Elizabeth       Mordaunt, 

Lady,  i.  76. 
Milner,  Mary,  i.  550. 
Minshull,  John,  i.  113. 
Mohl,  M.  Julius,  i.  502,  504. 
Mohl,   Madame,  i.  502,  504;   ii. 

214-216. 
Monceaux,  Chateau  de,  ii.  523. 
Monk,  Miss,  ii.  -77. 
Montagu,    Lady     Elizabeth,    ii. 

1  15. 
Montbard,  ii.  523. 
Mon1  Blanc,  the  tour  of,  i.  :W4. 
Monte  Cassino,  i.  171. 
Monteith,  Robert,  of  Carstairs,  ii. 

355,  105,  132,  117.  151,  154. 
Monteith,    Wilhelmina    Mellish, 

wife   of    Robert    Monteith    of 

Carstairs,  ii.  137,  105,  1 17.  150, 

154,  158,  159. 
Montgolfier,  Madame  de,  ii.  524. 
Montgomery,  Hon.  Mrs.  Alfred, 

ii.  269,  289,  106,  140,  111.  442- 

151,  154,  156,  158,  160. 
Moore,    Archdeacon     Henry,    of 

SI  ifford,  i.   130,   127,  514. 
Morini,  Padre  A  sji  ■-<  ino,  ii.  421. 
Morley,  Albert-Edmund,  3d  Earl 

of,  ii.  3 
Morley,  Harriet,  <  lountess  of,  ii. 

324. 


Morlot,  Cardinal  Archbishop   of 

Talis,  l.  505. 
Morpeth,  ii.  15,  87. 
Mounteagle,  Lady,  ii.  339. 
Mount  -  Edgecombe,      Caroline, 

Countess  of,  ii.   SO. 
Mount  -  Edgecombe,    Katherine, 

Countess  of,  ii.  ■V2'->. 
Mount  -  Edgecombe,         William 

Henry.  1th  Earl  of,  ii.  323,  328. 
Munich,  ii.  484. 

Munn,  Rev.  -John  Reade,  ii.  550. 
Murat,  Caroline,  Queen  of  Naples, 

i.  14. 
Murray,  John,  the  third,  i.  514- 

516,  579;  ii.  2. 


Naples,  i.  472,  473. 

Naples,  Erancesco  II.,  King  of,  ii. 

288,  291. 
Naples,  Marie  of  Bavaria,  Queen 

of,  ii.  281. 
Naples,   Marie   Therose    Isabelle, 

Queen  of,  ii.  281,  288. 
Napoleon  I.,  i.  72. 
Napoleon    III.,    Emperor  of   the 

French,  ii.  200. 
Narui.  ii.  293. 
Naylor,  Anna  Maria  Mealey,  Mrs. 

Hare.  i.  lo.  71,  72,  221,  227,  379. 
Naylor,  Bethaia,  i.  1. 
Naylor,  Francis,  i.  1. 
Naylor,  Francis  Hare,  i.  3-5,  10. 
Naylor.  Georgiana  Shipley,  Mrs. 

Hare,  i.  5-10. 
\a\ li ii-.  Miss  ( rrace,  i.  1. 

Naylor.  Robert  Hare,  i.  2-4. 

Neri,  S.  Filippo,  ii.  :'>75. 

Neuchatel,  i.  498. 

New  AM >ey.  i.  539. 

New  battle  Abbey,  ii.  249. 


INDEX 


573 


Newcastle-on-Tyne,  ii.  48. 

Newman,  Rev.  John  Henry,  after- 
wards Cardinal,  ii.  211,  212. 

Nice,  ii.  91. 

Nicholas  I.,  Emperor  of  Russia, 
i.  468. 

Nicholson,  Miss,  ii.  514. 

Normanby,  Maria  Liddell,  wife  of 
the  1st  Marquis  of,  i.  482,  570, 
576. 

North  Berwick,  ii.  80,  351. 

Northcote,  Captain  and  Mrs.,  ii.  87. 

Norwich,  i.  92-94. 

Nunnington  Hall,  i.  14,  422. 

Nuremberg,  i.  346. 

Oberlin,  i.  495. 

Oberwesel,  ii.  401. 

Ogle,  Miss,  the  authoress,  ii.  76. 

Orvieto,  i.  480. 

Otterburn,  ii.  70. 

Oxenham,  Rev.  W.,  i.  188. 

Oxford,      Samuel      Wilberforce, 

Bishop  of.  ii.  334. 
Oxford,  Countess  of,  i.  14. 

Padua,  ii.  488,  489. 

Paestum,  i.  475. 

Pallavicini,  Carolina,  Princess,  i. 

456;  ii.  398. 
Palmer,  Mr.  William,  i.  573. 
Palmerston,  H.  Temple,  1st  Earl 

of,  i.  9. 
Panizzi,  Sir  Antonio,  i.   514;  ii. 

327.  * 

Pantaleone,  Dr.,  ii.  95,  96. 
Paolucci    di    Calboli,     Marchese 

Annibale,  ii.  106. 
Paolucci,   Marchese    Raniero,    ii. 

106. 
Papillon,  Rev.  Henry,  ii.  547. 


Papillon,  Mrs.  H,  ii.  549. 
Paray  le  Monial,  ii.  152,  196. 
Paris,  i.  252,  253,  259,  501-511. 
Parisani,  Palazzo,  i.  206,  269,  296, 

455 ;  ii.  112,  140,  366,  419. 
Parker,  John  Henry,  i.  406 ;   ii. 

470. 
Parker,  Mrs.  J.  H.,  i.  375. 
Parker,  Lady  Katherine,  ii.  328. 
Parry,  Catherine,  Lady,  i.  221. 
Parry,    Sir    Edward,   the    Arctic 

Voyager,  i.  90,  221. 
Parry,  Edward,  Bishop  of  Dover, 

i.  221. 
Parry  (Isabella   Stanley),    Lady, 

first  wife  of  Sir  Edward,  i.  90, 

221. 
Parry,  Serjeant,  ii.  454,  455,  458. 
Pastacaldi,  Padre,  ii.  136,  465. 
Paterson,  Mrs.,  of  Linlathen,  i.  540. 
Paterson,  Monsignor,  ii.  451,  452, 

456,  461. 
Patrizi,  Cardinal,  ii.  273. 
Pattenden,  Deborah,  i.  167. 
Paul,  Anne  Frances,  i.  19,  20,  23, 

24,  25,  26,  27,  29,  31. 
Paul,    Eleanor-Maria,    i.    30,   33, 

278,  464,  465,  490,  498,  499,  572, 

573  :  ii.  125-128,  426,  428,  467. 
Paul,  Elizabeth  Halifax,  Lady,  i. 

225,  233,  234. 
Paul,  Frances  Eleanor,   Lady,  i. 

16,  20,  21,  22,  24,  25,  30. 
Paul,  Jane,  i.  22,  233. 
Paul,  Sir  John  Dean,  Bart.,  L  16, 

30,  40,  66,  224. 
Paul,  Sir  John  Dean,  the  younger, 

i.  295,  393. 
Paul,  Maria  Horatia,  i.  221,  234. 
Paul,    Mary,    Lady,    widow      of 

Berkeley  Napier  of  Pennard,  i. 

66. 


-.7! 


INDEX 


Paul,  William  Wentworth,  L  234. 
Payne,  .Mrs.,  ii.  282. 
Peabodj .  <  reorge,  ii.  9  I — 96. 
P«  abody,  Robert,  ii.  188,  191,  193, 
503,  512. 

IV;. kirk.  ii.  345. 

Pi  arson,  \l>\ .  Bugh,  Elector  of 
Sonning,  L.  95,  326,  '■'<'>'■'•■  584  ;  ii. 
294. 

Pi  ebles,  ii.  81. 

Pi  _;i:i.  1.  611. 

I       lit i.  611  :   ii.  93. 

Pellerin,  Monsignor,  i.  16  I. 
Pellew,   Hon.    George,    Dean    of 

Norwich,  i.  1 83. 
Pencaitland,  ii.  80. 
Pennyman,  Lady,  ii.  04,  65. 
I '     i  Ii\  ii.   I.;nl\    Charlotte,    i.  38, 

112,  113,  324,  325. 
Penrhyn,  Edward,  i.  38,  55,  1G5, 

324,  369,  L08;  ii.  26. 
P  orhyn,  Miss  Emma,  i.  303,  304, 

324,  369;  ii.  17:;.  518,  549. 
Penrhyn,  .Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leycester, 

ii.  549. 
Percy,  Lord  Henry,  ii.  328. 
Percy,  Hugh  Heber,  ii.  340. 
Percy,  Mrs.  Heber  (Emily  Heber), 

i.  535. 
Percy,  Dr.  Hugh,  Bishop  of  Car- 
Lisle,  i.  536. 
Peterborough,  Karl  of,  i.  1. 
I     it,  Mi-s  Emma,  L  611  ;  ii.  57. 
Petit,    Rev.   J.   L.,  the  ecclesiol- 
ist,  i.  611,  612;  ii.  59. 
v.  i.  104,  105. 
Pietra  Santa,  i.    l!)0. 

Pile,  Mr.  Robert,  i.  17:  ii.  302. 
Pile,  Mrs.   Robert,  i.  17.  135,  136, 

152,  220. 
I'    mbino,  Prince  and  Princess,  i. 

156;  ii.  1:38. 


Piper,  Mrs.,  i.  82,  206. 

Pisa.  i.  189;  ii.  253,  202,464,465, 

I!)  1-500. 

Pitcairn,  Mrs.,  ii.  25. 

Pius  IX..  Pope,  i.  270,  458-460; 

ii.  25,   138,  268,  269,  277,  293, 

470,  504. 
Playfair,  Sir  Hugh  Lyon,  Provost 

of  St.  Andrews,  i.  51 1,  515. 
Plumptre,  Rev.  Edward,  Dean  of 

Wells,  i.  142. 
Plumptre,    Rev.     Dr.     Frederick 

Charles,  Master  of  University 

College,  i.  321,350. 
Plumptre  (Harriet  Maurice),  Mrs. 

E.,  i.  142. 
Pole,  Lady  Louisa,  i.  280. 
Pole,  Miss  Marguerite,  i.  279-282; 

ii.  415,  430. 
Pole,    Sir  Peter   Van    Notten,  i. 

279-2S2. 
Poiignac,  Due  de,  ii.  246. 
Ponsonby,  Miss  Melita,  ii.  82. 
Porson,  Dr.  Richard,  ii.  96. 
Portman,   Hon.    Walter,   i.   240, 

242,  263,  359. 
Port  Royal,  i.  509. 
Porto  Fino,  i.  010. 
Porto  Venere,  ii.  253. 
Poulevey,  Pere  de,  ii.  129. 
Powell  (Lucilla  Maurice),  Mrs.,  i. 

Hi'. 
Prague,  i.  344. 
Prasljn,  Duchesse  de,  i.   194;  ii. 

220. 
Prftt,  Marquis  and  Marquise  de,  i. 

500. 

Preignier,  Marquise  du,  i.  502. 
Prentiss,  Mr.,  i.  130. 
Prosperi,  Monsignor,  ii.  208. 
Pusey,  Dr.  Edward  Bouverie,  ii. 
268. 


INDEX 


575 


Ramsay,  Mrs.,  ii.  367,  369. 

Ratlidonnell,  Lady,  ii.  279. 

Ratisbon,  Le  Pere,  i.  463. 

Ravenna,  i.  448. 

Ravensworth,  Henry  Liddell,  Earl 
of,  ii.  159. 

Ravignan,  Pere  de,  i.  281. 

Reedswire,  the,  ii.  71. 

Reisach,  Cardinal  de,  ii.  289. 

Rianzares,  Due  de,  i.  455. 

Richmond  (Elizabeth  Liddell), 
Mrs.  Brook,  i.  574,  577. 

Richmond,  George,  the  artist,  i. 
578. 

Ridley  Hall,  i.  546-550;  ii.  6,  12, 
67,  349. 

Rignano,  Emilio,  Duke  of,  i.  465. 

Rimini,  i.  449. 

Ripley  Castle,  ii.  20,  60-66,  466. 

Robinson,  Miss,  ii.  42-48. 

Rockend,  i.  71,  72,  200. 

Roddam,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  of  Rod- 
dam,  ii.  IS,  19,  86. 

Roleston.  Mary  Pierina,  Abbess 
of  the  Precious  Blood,  ii.  136, 
147-150,  406,  429,  430,  432,  435, 
436,  445,  450,  451,  453, 456,  459. 

Rome,  i.  452-470;  ii.  109-112, 
133-142, 263-293,  467-471,  501- 
518. 

Rosam,  Miss,  i.  400. 

Rothbury,  ii.  88. 

Rousham,  i.  528. 

Routh,  Dr.  Joseph  Martin,  Presi- 
dent of  Magdalen,  i.  356,  357. 

Rowley  (Charlotte  Shipley),  Hon. 
Mrs.,  ii.  315. 

Royal,  Baths  of,  ii.  333 

Ruskin,  John,  i.  494,  495;  ii  15, 
185. 

Russell,  Lady  Frankland,  i.  415, 
599. 


Russell,    Sir  John,   of  Chequers, 

i.  599. 
Russell,  Mr.  and  Lady  Emily,  ii. 

512. 
Rutherford,  of  Egerton,  Mr.  and 

Mrs.,  ii.  52-54. 
Ruthven,  Mary,  Lady,  ii.  62-64, 

78-80,  243,  245,  246,  249. 
Rutson,  Albert,  i.  415,  419,  422. 
Rye  House,  the,  i.  249. 
Ryton,  ii.  50. 


Sackville,  S.  Stopford,  of  Dray- 
ton, i.  518. 
Saffi,  Count  Aurelio,  i.  429. 
Sainte   Aldegonde,    Madame,    ii. 

269. 
St.  Andrews,  i.  424,  544. 
S.  Bernard,  Le  Grand,  i.  364. 
S.  Denis,  i.  259. 
S.  Emilion,  ii.  193. 
S.  Gemignano,  ii.  488-490. 
S.  Giorgio,  Lady  Anne,  i.  477-480 ; 

ii.  368,  502. 
S.  Giorgio,  Contessa  Carolina  di, 

i.  481;  ii.  367. 
S.  Pierre,  Le  Cure'  de,  ii.  132. 
S.  Remo,  ii.  97. 
Salette,  La,  ii.  206. 
Salis,  Comtesse  de,  i.  593-599. 
Salt,  Miss  Harriet,  ii.  57. 
Salt,  Miss  Sarah,  i.  612,  613 ;  ii. 

57. 
Salzburg,  i.  441  :  ii.  400. 
Sandwich  Islands,  Emma,  Queen 

Dowager  of  the,  ii.  212,  300. 
Santa-Croce,    Catherine      Scully, 

Princess  of,  i.  457,  458. 
Santa-Croce,  Donna  Vincenza,  ii- 

285. 
Sartines,  M  de,  i.  524-526. 


576 


INDEX 


na,   ii.  862. 

.a  Switzerland,  i.  841. 
Saye  and  Sele,  1 1th  Baron,  i.  153> 

Schiller,  i.  9. 
Schouvaloff,  Count,  i    161. 

5  M .  John  Alexander,  i.  57. 
-     tt,  Misses,  i.  549,  550. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,!  540;  ii.  U,44, 

15. 
Scully,  Misses,  L  157,  158. 
Sculthorpe,  i.  4. 

6  dgwick,  Professor  Adam,  i.  95, 
L30. 

Selby,  Robert,  i.  181. 

Selman,  Sarah,  i.  2. 

Sepolti  Vivi.  the,  ii.  270-272. 

Serafina  della  Croce,  ii.  403,  404, 

145. 
Serlupi,  Marchese,  ii.  307,  373. 
Sermoneta,  Margherita,  Duchess 

of,  i    l">(i. 
Sermoneta,    .Michelangelo,    Duke 

of,  i.  155;  ii.  282. 
Servites,  Order  of  the,  ii.  152. 
Sestri,  ii.  365. 

Seymour,  Mrs.  Hamilton,  ii.  5:5:3. 
Shaw-Lefevre,  Sir  John,  i.    578, 

581. 
Shaw-Lefevre,    Miss     Maria,     ii. 

109. 
Shaw-Lefevre,     Miss     Mary,     ii. 

109. 
Sheffield,  George,  i.  335,  354,  392, 

113-415,   419,     129,    132,    435- 

140,  513,  532. 
Shelley   (Mary    Wbllstonecraft), 

Mr-.,  i.  30. 
Shelley,  Lady,  i.  354;  ii.  16 
Shipley,  Anna.  Maria,  i.  10. 
Shipley  (  Anna   Maria  Mordaunt), 

Mrs.,  i.  I.  510. 


Shipley,  Emilia,  i.  G7. 

Shipley,  Jonathan,  Bishop  of  St. 

Asaph,  i.  4. 
Shipley,  Mrs.  Louisa,  i.  15,  27,30, 

32,  67,76,  1l':>;  ii.  315. 
Shipley,  Orby,  i.  3s:;. 
Shipley,    William,    Dean    of   St. 

Asaph,  ii.  313-316. 
Shrewsbury,  10th  Earl,  and  Count- 
ess of,  i.  183. 
Sid. Ions,  Mrs.,  i.  100;  ii.  47. 
Siena,  ii.  489,  490. 
Simpkinson,  Miss  Emma,  ii.  252, 

381,  382,  391,  398,  534. 
f  Simpkinson,    Rev.  John  Nassau, 

i.  87,  97,  169,  193,  384. 
Simpkinson,   Miss  Louisa,  i.  87, 

97,  169. 
Simpson,    Lady   Anne,   i.    17-19, 

224,  269,  278  ;  ii.  50. 
Simpson,  John,  of  Bradley,  i.  17. 
Sims,  Mary,  i.  22. 
Skiddaw,  ascent  of,  i.  538. 
Sloper,  Rev.  John,  i.  67. 
Smith,  Goldwin  i.  323,  350. 
Smith,  "Sir  Hugh,"  i.  317. 
Smith,  Mrs.  Spencer,  ii.  533. 
Smith,  Rev.  Sydney,  i.  409  ;  ii.  47, 

48. 
Somerton,  Caroline,  Viscountess, 

i.  590. 
Sonning,  i.  320,  374. 
Sora,  Agnese,  Duchess  of,  i.  456 ; 

ii.  120,  136,  138,  289,  418. 
Sora,  Rudolfo,  Duke  of,  i.  456 ; 

ii.  130,  138,  289. 
Sorrento,  i.  473  ;  ii.  112. 
Southgate,  i.  239. 
South  Wraxhall  .Manor,  i.  215. 
Souvigny,  ii.  333. 
Soveral,  M.  and  Madame  de,  ii. 

372. 


INDEX 


577 


Spencer,  5th  Earl,  and  Countess 
of,  i.  57S. 

Splugen,  passage  of  the,  ii.  299. 

Spoleto,  ii.  399. 

Spy,  the  family,  i.  293-297. 

Squires,  Dr.,  ii.  425-427,  454. 

Stael,  Madame  de,  ii.  551. 

Stanhope,  Hon.  Edward,  i.  518. 

Stanley,  Arthur  Penrhyn,  i.  53, 
94,  95,  173,  187,  193,  225,  235, 
283,  286,  303,  311,  319,  349, 
374,  382,  384,  390,  421,  427, 
428,  430-432,  452,  506-508,  514, 
515-517,  529-532,  539,  578,  580, 
583,  584,  585;  ii.  23,  26,  33,  99, 
100,  107,  195,  196,  301,  335, 339, 
340,  549,  550. 

Stanley,  Lady  Augusta,  ii.  107, 
195,  196,  301,  335,  339,  549. 

Stanley,  Catherine  Maria,  after- 
wards Mrs.  C.  Vaughan,  i.  52, 
55,  94,  166,  222,  223. 

Stanley,  Captain  Charles  Edward, 
i.  123,  222. 

Stanley,  Mrs.  Charles  Edward,  i. 
445. 

Stanley,  Rev.  Edward,  Rector  of 
Alderley,  and  afterwards  Bishop 
of  Norwich,  i.  35,  49,  52,  55, 
105,  112,  113,  173,  182-187, 
222. 

Stanley,  Mrs.  Edward  (Catherine 
Leycester),  i.  35,  49,  81,  105, 
111,  165,203,  222,236,237,285, 
290,  316,  323,  374,  387, 408, 409, 
417,  427,429,452,  506,  507,  512; 
ii.  26-28,  173. 

Stanley,  Hon.  Emmeline,  i. 
514. 

Stanley,  Hon.  Louisa,  i.  324,  520, 
521. 

Stanley,  Maria  Josepha,  Lady 
vol.  ii.  —  37 


Stanley  of  Alderley,  i.  93,  105, 

326,  327,  520. 

Stanley,  Hon.  Maria  Margaret,  i. 

327,  520. 

Stanley,  Mary,  i.  55,  93,  166,  262, 

303,  374,  416,  417,  418;  ii.  214, 

441,  442,  446,  452,  453,  455,  458, 

515. 
Stanley,  Captain  Owen,  i.  222. 
Stanley,  William  Owen,  of  Pen- 

rhos,  i.  399. 
Stanley,  Mrs.  W.  Owen,  i.  399. 
Stapleton,  Lady,  ii.  312,  313. 
Star,  Thomas,  i.  130. 
Stephanie,     Grand     Duchess     of 

Baden,  i.  303,  304. 
Sterling,  Rev.  John,  i.  55. 
Stewart,   Robert    Shaw,   ii.    250, 

251. 
Stirling,  Mrs.,  of  Glenbervie,  ii. 

250. 
Stirling,  Mrs.,  of  Kippenross,  ii. 

244,  245. 
Stirling,  Mrs.,  of  Linlathen,  i.  540. 
Stirling-Graham,    Miss    Clemen- 
tina, of  Duntrune,  i.  540. 
Stisted,    Mrs.,   of  the    Bagni   di 

Lucca,  i.  484. 
Stoke-upon-Terne,  i.  48,  51,  100- 

119,  536;  ii.  56. 
Stonebyres,  ii.  83. 
Stonehenge,  i.  531. 
Stoney,  Mr.  Robinson,  i.  19. 
Story,  Miss  Amelia,  ii.  170. 
Story,  William,  the  sculptor,  ii. 

511. 
Stowe,  Mrs.  Beecher,  i.  409. 
Strathmore,  Charles,  6th  Earl,  i. 

18. 
Strathmore,  John,  5th  Earl,  i.  18. 
Strathmore,  John,    9th    Earl,    i. 

545. 


578 


[NDEX 


Btrathmore,  John,  lot  li  Karl,  i. 

546,  550. 
Btrathmore,  Man  Eleanor  Bowes, 

wife  .>t  the  9th  Earl  of,  i.  19, 

545;  ii.  13. 
Strathmore,  Mar}  Milner,  widow 

of  the  10th  Earl  of,  i.  42,  550, 

551. 
Streatlam  Castle,  i.  550;  ii.  13. 
Strettel,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  i.  610. 
Strickland,  Mr.,  of  Cokethorpe,  i. 

528. 
Stuart,  Charles  Edward,  ii.  209. 
Stuart.  Lady  Euphemia,  i.  17. 
Stuart,  Lady  Jane,  i.  17. 
Stuart,  John  Sobieski  Stolberg,  ii. 

209. 
Stuart.  Lady  Louisa,  i.  238. 
Stuart,   de   Rothesay,    Elizabeth, 

Lady,  ii.  18,  19,  83,  100. 
Stuttgart,  ii.  484. 
Suffolk,  Charles  .John,  17th  Earl, 

ii.  324,  328. 
Suffolk,   Isabella,  Countess  of,  ii. 

324,  332. 
Sumner,  John   Bird,  Archbishop 

of  Canterbury,  i.  323. 
Surtees,  of  Mainsforth,  the  histo- 
rian and  poet,  ii.  41,  42. 
Surtees,  of   Mainsforth,  Mrs.,  ii. 

41-48. 
Sutherland,    Anna    Hay-Macken- 
zie, Duchess  of,  ii.  411. 
Sutton  Place,  i.  581. 
Sw  inburne,  Sir  John,  ii.  7.">. 


Tahium,  Conte  Luigi,  ii.  270. 

Tait.  Archibald  Campbell,  Bishop 
of  London,  afterwards  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  ii.  239- 
243. 


Tait,  Crauford,  ii.  243. 

Tait,  Mrs.,  ii.  239-243. 

Talbot,  Monsignor,  i.  453,  463; 
ii.  366,  lot;,  117. 

Tambroni,  Clotilda,   Professor  of 
( rreei  at  Bologna,  i.  5-7. 

Tankerville,  Charles,  -~> 1 1  l  Earl,  ii. 
238. 

Tankerville,  Charles,  6th  Karl,  ii. 
7-10,  21,  87. 

Tankerville,  Olivia,  Countess  of, 
ii.  7-10,  21,  238,  239. 

Tat  ton,  Miss  Kanny,'i.  427,  538. 

Tayler,  Rev.  Charles,  i.  78. 

Tayleur,  Miss  Harriet,  i.  114,  115, 
398;  ii.  55,  303. 

Tayleur,  Miss  Mary,  i.  114,  115, 
398 ;  ii.  55. 

Tayleur,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  of  Bunt- 
ingdale,  i.  114. 

Tayleur,    William,  of   Buntings- 
dale,  ii.  55. 

Taylor,  Dr.,  afterwards  Sir  Alex- 
ander, ii.  170,  178,  43(5,  452. 

Taylor,  K.  Cavendish,  ii.  377. 

Taylor  (Julia  Hare),  Mrs.,  after- 
wards Lady,  i.  72;  ii.  170,  179. 

Teano,  Ada,  Princess,  ii.  369. 

Teesdale,  ii.  GO. 

Temple,  Harry,  i.  0. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  the  Poet  Lau- 
reate, i.  204. 

Tenterden  Steeple,  ii.  480. 

Terry,  Mrs.,  ii.  516,  517. 

Thirlwall,  Connop,  Bishop  of  St. 
David's,  i.  130,  3 is,  383. 

Thomas,  John,  Bishop  of  Peter- 
borough, ii.  ii."). 

Thornton  (Harriet  Heber),  Mrs. 
John,  i.  523-527. 

Thornycroft,  i.  537;  ii.  306. 

Thorpe,  Mrs.,  ii.  123,  208,  105,  125. 


INDEX 


579 


Tivoli,  ii.  513. 
Torcello,  ii.  399. 
Torchio,  ii.  404-405. 
Torlonia,  Duke  of,  ii.  30-32. 
Torre,    Contessa    della,   ii.    155, 

156. 
Toul,  ii.  481. 
Tours,  ii.  169. 
Townshend,  Mrs.,  i.  76. 
Trafford,    Edward     William,   of 

Wroxham,  i.  564  ;  ii.  120,  197. 
Trafford    (Martine    Larmignac), 

Madame  de,  i.  557-571 ;  ii.  120, 

125-128.  197-210,  254-263,407, 

416-419.  474,  477. 
Trani,Matlrildeof  Bavaria,  Count- 


£ 


VA> 


Jl 


ess  of,  ii.  281. 
Trenca,  M.  and  Madame,  i.  604. 
Trench,  Mrs.  Richard,  ii.  143. 
Trench,  Rev.  R.  Chenevix,  i.  69. 
Trent,  ii.  400. 

Trevelyan,  Sir  Charles,  ii.  73. 
Trevelyan,  Paulina,  Lady,  ii.  15, 

73-75. 
Trevelyan,  Mrs.  Spencer,  ii.  76. 
Trevelyan,  Mrs.  Raleigh,  ii.  76. 
Trevelyan,  Sir  Walter,  ii.  15,  73- 

76.  ' 
Treves,  i.  305. 
Tronchin,  Colonel,  of  Geneva,  i. 

360. 
Trotter.  Captain,  i.  249. 
Trotter  (Hon.  Charlotte  Liddell), 

Mrs.,  i.  249. 
Troutbeck,      John,       afterwards 

Minor  of  Westminster,  i.  328, 

331,  333,  355. 
Tufton,  i.  220. 
Turin,  i.  494. 
Turner,  Miss,  ii.  304,  305. 
Tusculum,  ii.  109. 
Tytler,  Christina  Fraser,  ii.  510. 


Ugolixi,  Cardinal,  ii.  269. 

Ungern  Sternberg,  Baroness  The- 
odora von,  ii.  28,  300. 

Unthank,  ii.  349. 

Use.dom,  Baron  and  Baroness 
von,  i.  316  ;  ii.  295,  297. 


Val  Anzasca,  i.  496. 

Val  Richer,  i.  254. 

Vallombrosa,  i.  477;  ii.  521. 

Valsamachi  (Emily  Shipley), 
Countess  of,  i.  523,  535,  536. 

Van  de  Weyer,  Madame,  i.  593. 

Van  de  Weyer,  M.  Sylvain,  i.  592, 
593. 

Vatche,  the,  in  Buckinghamshire, 
i.  2,  392,  533. 

Vaucher,  Mademoiselle,  ii.  98. 

Vaudois,  the,  i.  495. 

Vaughan,  Dr.  Charles,  afterwards 
Dean  of  Llandaff,  i.  169,  173, 
223,  266,  313,  315,  578,  580  ;  ii. 
26,  344. 

Vaughan,  Mrs.  Charles  (Cather- 
ine Maria  Stanley),  i.  223,  266, 
315,  578;  ii.  2,  349. 

Vauriol,  Vicomte  de,  ii.  499. 

Veii,  ii.  108. 

Venables,  Rev.  E.,  afterwards 
Canon  and  Precentor  of  Lin- 
coln, i.  191. 

Vernon,  Augustus  Henry,  6th 
Lord,  ii.  325. 

Verona,  ii.  400. 

Verulam,  Elizabeth,  Countess  of, 
ii.  324. 

Vescorali,  Luigi,  i.  24. 

Vetturino  travelling,  i.  444-447. 

Vicenza,  ii.  486. 

Victor-Emmanuel,  King  of  Italy, 
ii.   96. 


580 


INDEX 


Victoria,  Queen  of  England,  L  66 ; 

ii.  23,  24. 
Victorine,  Madame,  ii.  288,  284. 
Vienna,  i.  138. 
Vigne,  Pere  La,  i.  268. 
Vine's  < rate,  ii.  531. 


Waddington,  Dean  of  Durham, 

ii.  6. 
Waddington,     M.,     Minister     of 

Foreign    Affairs    and    Ambas- 
sador in  London,  i.  253,  195. 
Wagner.  Rev.  George,  i.  03,  Hi. 
Wagner,    .Mrs.,    i.   63;    ii.    138, 

534. 
Wake,  Sir  Baldw  in,  i.  529. 
Waldegrave,  Sarah,  Countess  of, 

ii.  534. 
Wales,    Albert     Edward,   Prince 

of,  ii.  26,  99. 
Wales,    Alexandra,     Princess    of, 

ii.  99. 
Walker,   Frederick  J.,  i.  243,  263, 

315. 
■•  Walks  in  Koine.-  ii.  527,  535. 
Wallington,  ii.  L5,  73-76. 
Walpole,  Sir  Robert,  i.  2,  552. 
Waltham  Abbey,  i.  2  16. 
Wantage,  i.  585. 
Warburton,    Mrs.    Eliot,  i.  405, 

I'":.  107,  113,  419. 
Warburton,  Miss  Sydney,  i.  405. 
Warkworth,  ii.  16,  76. 
Wane,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  i.   1 16. 
Warren,  Miss  Anna,  i.  522. 
Wan-en  (Penelope  Shipley),  Mis.. 

i-  131,  522,  523;  Li.  313. 
Waterford,  John,  Marquis  of,  ii. 

18. 

H    terford,    Henry,    Marquis   of, 
ii. 


Waterford,  Louisa,  Marchioness 
of.  ii.  18,  in.  83-86,  218-221, 
230-237,  171-17'i.  190. 

Way,  Albert,  i.  399,  514. 

Wa  viand  Smith's  Cave,  i.  591. 

Webster    (Charlotte    Adamson), 

Lady,  ii.  355. 
Weeping  Cross,  ii.  57. 
Wellesley,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry,  Prin- 
cipal   of   New     Inn    Hall    and 

Rector  of    Hurstmonceaux,   i. 

12,  577,  602;  ii.  29-31. 
Wellington,     Arthur    Wellesley, 

1st  Duke  of,  i.  311;  ii.  2!). 
Wells,  Lady  Louisa,  ii.  80,  325. 
Weniyss,    Francis,    8th    Earl,    ii. 

217. 
Weniyss,  Louisa,  Countess  of,  ii. 

80. 
Wenlock,  Caroline,  Lady,  ii.  106, 

336. 
West  Woodhay,  i.  67. 
Weymouth,  i.  590. 
Whately,     Richard,     Archbishop 

of  Dublin,  i.  181,  221. 
Whewell,     William,     Master    of 

Trinity,  i.  130 ;  ii.  339. 
Wickham,   William,  of  Binstead 

Wyke,  i.  581. 
Will >er force,    Samuel,   Bishop  of 

Oxford,    afterwards    of    Win- 
chester, i.  374;  ii.  335. 
Wilcot  Douse,  i.  220. 
Wilkinson,  Greene,  i.  464. 
William  IV.,  King,  i.  55,  232  :  ii. 

237. 
Williams,  Captain,  ii.  234,  237. 
Williams,    Sir  John    and    Lady 

Sarah,  i.  400. 
Wil damson  (Hon.  Anne  Liddell), 

Lady,  i.  572,  574,  575,  576,  577 ; 

ii.  115,  118. 


INDEX 


581 


Williamson,   Captain   Charles,  i. 

575-577;  ii.  445. 
Williamson,  Victor  Alexander,  i. 

518,  578;  ii.  118,  110. 
Wilson,  Miss,  ii.  522. 
Wilson,  Mrs.,  i.  32:). 
Winslow,  Dr.,  ii.  436,  160,  512. 
Winton  Castle,  ii.  78,  212. 
Wiseman,  Nicholas  Patrick,  Car- 
dinal, ii.  186. 
Wishaw  House,  ii.  81. 
Wodehouse,  Miss  Emily,  i.  95  ;  ii. 

303. 
Wodehouse,    Canon     and     Lady 

Jaue,  i.  95. 
Wood,  Alderman,  ii.  222. 
Wood,   Hon.  Charles  Lindley,  i. 

518,   578,  607-609;  ii.    15,    54, 

471. 
Wood,  Sir  Charles,  ii.  15. 


Wood,  Lady  Mary,  i.  607  ;  ii.  239. 
AVood,  Mrs.  Shakespeare,  ii.  367. 
Woodward,  Mrs.,  ii.  382-384,469, 

508,  515,  519. 
Wordsworth,   William,  the   poet, 

i.  141. 
Worting  House,  near  Basingstoke, 

i.  10,  523. 
Wright,  Miss  Annie,  i.  97. 
Wright,  Miss  Sophia,  ii.  109,  325, 

328,  360,  372,  469,  471,  481,  501, 

506,  526,  528. 

Yeatman,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morgan, 

ii.  549. 
Yetholm,  ii.  236. 
Yorke,  Lady  Elizabeth,  i.  169. 

Zermatt,  i.  365. 


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